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Edgar Allan Poe, 1849

    Thank Heaven! the crisis-
    The danger is past,
    And the lingering illness
    Is over at last-
    And the fever called "Living"
    Is conquered at last.

    Sadly, I know
    I am shorn of my strength,
    And no muscle I move
    As I lie at full length-
    But no matter!-I feel
    I am better at length.

    And I rest so composedly,
    Now, in my bed
    That any beholder
    Might fancy me dead-
    Might start at beholding me,
    Thinking me dead.

    The moaning and groaning,
    The sighing and sobbing,
    Are quieted now,
    With that horrible throbbing
    At heart:- ah, that horrible,
    Horrible throbbing!

    The sickness- the nausea-
    The pitiless pain-
    Have ceased, with the fever
    That maddened my brain-
    With the fever called "Living"
    That burned in my brain.

    And oh! of all tortures
    That torture the worst
    Has abated- the terrible
    Torture of thirst
    For the naphthaline river
    Of Passion accurst:-
    I have drunk of a water
    That quenches all thirst:-

    Of a water that flows,
    With a lullaby sound,
    From a spring but a very few
    Feet under ground-
    From a cavern not very far
    Down under ground.

    And ah! let it never
    Be foolishly said
    That my room it is gloomy
    And narrow my bed;
    For man never slept
    In a different bed-
    And, to sleep, you must slumber
    In just such a bed.

    My tantalized spirit
    Here blandly reposes,
    Forgetting, or never
    Regretting its roses-
    Its old agitations
    Of myrtles and roses:

    For now, while so quietly
    Lying, it fancies
    A holier odor
    About it, of pansies-
    A rosemary odor,
    Commingled with pansies-
    With rue and the beautiful
    Puritan pansies.

    And so it lies happily,
    Bathing in many
    A dream of the truth
    And the beauty of Annie-
    Drowned in a bath
    Of the tresses of Annie.

    She tenderly kissed me,
    She fondly caressed,
    And then I fell gently
    To sleep on her breast-
    Deeply to sleep
    From the heaven of her breast.

    When the light was extinguished,
    She covered me warm,
    And she prayed to the angels
    To keep me from harm-
    To the queen of the angels
    To shield me from harm.

    And I lie so composedly,
    Now, in my bed,
    (Knowing her love)
    That you fancy me dead-
    And I rest so contentedly,
    Now, in my bed,
    (With her love at my breast)
    That you fancy me dead-
    That you shudder to look at me,
    Thinking me dead.

    But my heart it is brighter
    Than all of the many
    Stars in the sky,
    For it sparkles with Annie-
    It glows with the light
    Of the love of my Annie-
    With the thought of the light
    Of the eyes of my Annie.

Last modified: February 17 2015 15:21:48.