The month after Annie died, her bereaved husband wrote:


LEFT BEHIND

I am all alone in my quiet room
And the hours are flying fast
My soul, with a listless aching sigh
Goes back to the misty past.
It dwells on the days when hope was young,
When my heart beat fresh and free;
When it throbbed for a fond and trusting one,
Heaven’s choicest gift to me.
She was all holy and innocent,
Her fringed eyes lustrous hue
Shone out from the depths of a loving heart,
All gentle and kind and true.
E’en now when the azure skies are bright
And the night orbs glisten fair,
My longing eyes look up to them
And I see her spirit there.
I see her still, as she used to sit
By the brooklet’s pebbly brink.
When our hearts were one and our souls were one
In many a golden link.
Oh the flowers smiled as they bathed their cheeks
In the depths of the crystal stream;
The flowers are pale and to me is left
But the shadow of a dream.
She has gone for aye — her ringing laugh
Is hushed in silence deep;
She sleepeth in the shadowy land
While I remain to weep.
And now when the stars come out at night
To gaze on the sleeping sea;
I close my eyes and I dream of her,
Alas, will she dream of me?
Will she dream of me? The saintly sweep
Of her raiment pure and white
Is beyond the confines of this clay
That chains me to earth and night.
But this threadbare garment will soon wear out
And this spirit will clave the air
Ane we’ll mingle and live our loves again,
In a vortex of glory there.