A SONG in devotion I sing to my Annie—
Ah! be startled not to discover I long,
To fold in my arms and possess what so many
And many a time is the theme of my song.

My manhood's dissolved at the sight of thy beauty,
And while heart can feel and such beauty is known,
What youth could be kept by a mere sense of duty
From yearning to call the enchanter his own?

The saint he may blame—so to do is the fashion—
And carp at my feelings and call them a sin;
Could beauty like thine be the price of his passion,
He'd rush to perdition the jewel to win.

To view thy locks blacker than coal and thy glances;
To hear thy voice, sweetest of music—ay, ay—
Thy manifold beauty my spirit entrances,
And reason deserts me when Annie is nigh!