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.

2021