Thou wilt come no more, gentle Annie, Like a flower thy spirit did depart; Thou art gone, alas! like the many That have bloomed in the summer of my heart.
Chorus
Shall we nevermore behold thee; Never hear thy winning voice again -- When the Springtime comes, gentle Annie, When the wild flowers are scattered o'er the plain?
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
Ah! the hours grow sad while I ponder Near the silent spot where thou art laid, And my heart bows down when I wander By the streams and the meadows where we strayed.
