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    For Annie

    by Edgar Allan Poe
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    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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