COAL black are the tresses of Fanny, <br /> But never a mortal could see <br />The coal-coloured tresses of Annie, <br /> And be as a body should be. <br /> <br />White, white, is her forehead, and bonnie— <br /> And when she goes down to the well, <br />The beat of the footstep of Annie, <br /> The wrath of a tiger would quell. <br /> <br />Red, red, are her round cheeks and bonnie— <br /> And when she is knitting, her tone— <br />The charm of the accents of Annie, <br /> Would ravish the heart of a stone. <br /> <br />Nay, rare are her graces and many, <br /> But whatever nothing can be <br />Compared to the sweet glance of Annie,— <br /> The glance she has given to me.<br /><br />Joseph Skipsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/annie-15/
