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 summer time 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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PORTRAIT OF A BABY by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE HILL ABOVE THE MINE by MALCOLM COWLEY SONNET; OXFORD, 1916 by GEORGE SANTAYANA 1914: 3. THE DEAD by RUPERT BROOKE THE PALM TREE by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS FARRAGUT by WILLIAM TUCKEY MEREDITH |