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.
1849.
