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
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.
