Book Lover


FOR ANNIE

by Edgar Allan Poe

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.





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