For Annie
For Annie
Thank Heaven! the crisisThe
danger is past,
And the lingering illness
Is over at lastAnd
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 lengthBut
no matter!-I feel
I am better at length.
And I rest so composedly,
Now, in my bed
That any beholder
Might fancy me deadMight
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 nauseaThe
pitiless painHave
ceased, with the fever
That maddened my brainWith
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 groundFrom
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 bedAnd,
to sleep, you must slumber
In just such a bed.
My tantalized spirit
Here blandly reposes,
Forgetting, or never
Regretting its rosesIts
old agitations
Of myrtles and roses:
For now, while so quietly
Lying, it fancies
A holier odor
About it, of pansiesA
rosemary odor,
Commingled with pansiesWith
rue and the beautiful
Puritan pansies.
And so it lies happily,
Bathing in many
A dream of the truth
And the beauty of AnnieDrowned
in a bath
Of the tresses of Annie.
She tenderly kissed me,
She fondly caressed,
And then I fell gently
To sleep on her breastDeeply
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 harmTo
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 deadAnd
I rest so contentedly,
Now, in my bed,
(With her love at my breast)
That you fancy me deadThat
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 AnnieIt
glows with the light
Of the love of my AnnieWith
the thought of the light
Of the eyes of my Annie.
Thank Heaven! the crisisThe
danger is past,
And the lingering illness
Is over at lastAnd
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 lengthBut
no matter!-I feel
I am better at length.
And I rest so composedly,
Now, in my bed
That any beholder
Might fancy me deadMight
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 nauseaThe
pitiless painHave
ceased, with the fever
That maddened my brainWith
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 groundFrom
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 bedAnd,
to sleep, you must slumber
In just such a bed.
My tantalized spirit
Here blandly reposes,
Forgetting, or never
Regretting its rosesIts
old agitations
Of myrtles and roses:
For now, while so quietly
Lying, it fancies
A holier odor
About it, of pansiesA
rosemary odor,
Commingled with pansiesWith
rue and the beautiful
Puritan pansies.
And so it lies happily,
Bathing in many
A dream of the truth
And the beauty of AnnieDrowned
in a bath
Of the tresses of Annie.
She tenderly kissed me,
She fondly caressed,
And then I fell gently
To sleep on her breastDeeply
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 harmTo
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 deadAnd
I rest so contentedly,
Now, in my bed,
(With her love at my breast)
That you fancy me deadThat
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 AnnieIt
glows with the light
Of the love of my AnnieWith
the thought of the light
Of the eyes of my Annie.