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Thank Heaven the crisis The danger is past

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. .

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by:- admin posted in:- edgar allan poe

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