Text: Edgar Allan Poe (ed. James H. Whitty), “For Annie,” The Complete Poems of Edgar Allan Poe, Houghton Mifflin Company, 1911, pp. 74-77


[page 74, unnumbered:]


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 — [page 75:]

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 — [page 76:]

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. [page 77:]

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:0 - JHW11, 1911] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Works - For Annie (ed. J. H. Whitty, 1911)