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. [page 33:]

 

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 odour

About it, of pansies —

A rosemary odour,

Commingled with pansies —

With rue and the beautiful

Puritan pansies. [page 34:]

 

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.