For Annie 1849

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 drunk 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.