For Annie

91

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—
Hare 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 napthaline river
⁠Of Passion accurst:—
I have drank of a water
⁠That quenches all thirst:—

Of a water that flows,
⁠With a lullaby sound.
From a spring but a verj few
⁠Feet under ground —
From a cavern not very fer
⁠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.

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