Gentle Annie |
Stephen Foster, 1856
Thou wilt come no more, gentle Annie, Like a flow'r thy spirit did depart; Thou art gone, alas! like the many That have bloomed in the summer of my heart. Chorus: Shall we never more behold thee; Never hear thy winning voice again When the Springtime comes gentle Annie, When the wild flow'rs are scattered o'er the plain? | 2. We have roamed and loved mid the bowers, When thy downy cheeks were in their bloom; Now I stand alone mid the flowers While they mingle their perfumes o'er thy tomb. Chorus:
3. Ah! the hours grow sad while I ponder |