For Annie

By Edgar Allan Poe

1809-1849


THANK Heaven! the crisis--
         The danger is past,
And the lingering illness
         Is over at last--
And the fever called 'Living'
         Is conquer'd 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 madden'd my brain--
With the fever called 'Living'
         That burn'd in my brain.

And O! 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 odour
         About it, of pansies--
A rosemary odour,
         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--
Drown'd in a bath
         Of the tresses of Annie.

She tenderly kiss'd me,
         She fondly caress'd,
And then I fell gently
         To sleep on her breast--
Deeply to sleep
         From the heaven of her breast.

When the light was extinguish'd,
         She cover'd me warm,
And she pray'd 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.

DayPoems Poem No. 648
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/648.html">For Annie by Edgar Allan Poe</a>

The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor

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