for annie

• 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.