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.
  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.