For Annie

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 drank 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.