My Anne has hair of darkest hue
That ever ravens wear.
It sparkles with the morning dew,
And ripples in the air.
My Anne has always on her lips
A tender, loving smile.
I think the angel's fingertips
Hold it there all the while.
My Anne has eyes like the wishing star
That shines for you and me.
She looks across the world so far,
Yet never seems to see.
Alas, My Anne, she loves not me,
Nor any beast or man.
But I love her because, you see,
My dolly is My Anne.
