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.