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Text: Edgar Allan Poe, "For Annie" (Z), Richmond Examiner proof sheets, about September 1849

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 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.

But 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.



[S:1 - REPS, 1849 (Whitty, 1911)] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Works - Poems - For Annie (Z)