Text: Edgar Allan Poe to Anson G. Chester — April 1, 1849 (LTR-309a)

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 
     The horrible throbbing 
At heart: — oh, 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 ah, of all tortures 
     That torture the worst 
Has abated — the terrible 
     Torture of thirst 
For the napthaline rivers 
     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, I fancy 
A holier odor about me, 
     of pansy —
A rosemary odor 
     Commingled with pansies —
With rue and the beautiful 
     Puritan pansy

——

And so I lie happily 
     Bathing in many 
A dream of the love 
     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 of the sky —  
     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.

——