EDGAR ALLAN POE

And O ! 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 '.-;;:? .^{'i.'

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