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 napthaline 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 tantalised 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.

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.