The wings of the dear old past, Annie,
Are falling over me,
And again my thoughts take their flight, Annie,
Over the sea to thee.
Over the sea, over the sea,
To that quaint, gray, quiet town,
Where you walk in the evening light, Annie,
As the golden sun sinks down.
And later, when twilight begins, Annie,
And the shadows grow deep and long,
Like whispers of spirits in dreams, Annie,
I hear you singing my song—
Singing my song, and the old, sweet words,
Like incense of angels rise;
And their music is in my heart, Annie,
While the tears are in my eyes.
O! just to see you again, Annie,
To walk with your hand in mine;
To stand by your side and look, Annie,
Into those eyes of thine—
Into the thoughts and the depths of those eyes,
As I did two years ago,
When we stood by the old, gray tower, Annie,
With the woods and the fields below.
But the wish sinks away as it forms, Annie;
Only from over the sea,
When the twilight is coming down, Annie,
You are singing that song to me—
Singing that song, and the dear, old words,
Like the incense of angels rise,
And their music is in my heart, Annie,
While the tears are in my eyes.