ANNIE BY MY SIDE A SITTING.

Annie by my side a sitting,
     Looks intently on my face,
Does she watch the shadows flitting
     From their secret lurking place?
     Where they hide and sit apart

     In the dim depths of my heart,
     Where Hope’s sunlight never cometh,
     Where Love’s red Rose never bloometh!

Does she deem me cold—unfeeling—
     That I never press her cheek?

From my dull self never stealing
     For a moment, week by week! [Page 120]
     Is it wonder?  Is it love?
     Would she bring me back the dove
     That my soul so humbly cherished?—

     Had it staid, it must have perished!

Little knows she the devotion
     Of my heart of hearts is hers,
Purest is the calmy ocean,
     Truth has silent worshippers!

     Annie sitting by my side,
     Knows not all the love I hide,
     Though my fond looks never sun her,
     Though I seldom smile upon her.

Her blue eyes are vaguely searching

     For a glance of Love’s return,
But my thoughts are closely perching
     On my dead love’s funeral urn.
     And I read her patient look,
     As a scholar reads a book,

     Gleaning pearls from all its pages,
     Thought-pearls from the brains of sages.

Annie by my side a sitting,
     Gazing mildly on my face,
Cannot see the shadows flitting

     From their secret lurking-place,
     Where they dimly sit apart
     In the cloud-folds of my heart,
     Weeping over hopes once cherished,
     Moaning for the dove that perished. [Page 121]