Annie

Annie is fairer than her kith
And kinder than her kin:
Her eyes are like the open heaven

Holy and pure from sin:
Her heart is like an ordered house
Good fairies harbour in:
Oh happy he who wins the love
That I can never win!

Her sisters stand as hyacinths
Around the perfect rose:
They bloom and open to the full.

My bud will scarce unclose.
They are for every butterfly
That comes and sips and goes;
My bud hides in the tender green

Most sweet and hardly shows.
Oh cruel kindness in soft eyes
That are no more than kind,
On which I gaze my heart away

Till the tears make me blind!
How is it others find the way
That I can never find
To make her laugh that sweetest laugh

Which leaves all else behind?
Her hair is like the golden corn
A low wind breathes upon:
Or like the golden harvest-moon

When all the mists are gone:
Or like a stream with golden sands
On which the sun has shone
Day after day in summertime

Ere autumn leaves are wan.
I will not tell her that I love,
Lest she should turn away
With sorrow in her tender heart

Which now is light and gay.
I will not tell her that I love.
Lest she should turn and say
That we must meet no more again
For many a weary day.