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For Annie
By Edgar Allan Poe
1809-1849THANK 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
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