EDGAR ALLAN POE

696. For Annie

HTHANK Heaven! the crisi A 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 madden'd my brain With the fever called Living' That burn'd in my brain.

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