Annie
COAL black are the tresses of Fanny,
But never a mortal could see
The coal-coloured tresses of Annie,
And be as a body should be.
White, white, is her forehead, and bonnie-
And when she goes down to the well,
The beat of the footstep of Annie,
The wrath of a tiger would quell.
Red, red, are her round cheeks and bonnie-
And when she is knitting, her tone-
The charm of the accents of Annie,
Would ravish the heart of a stone.
Nay, rare are her graces and many,
But whatever nothing can be
Compared to the sweet glance of Annie,-
The glance she has given to me.
Joseph Skipsey
The copyright of the poems published here are belong to their poets.
Internetpoem.com is a non-profit poetry portal. All information in here has been published only for educational and informational purposes.