EDGAR ALLAN POE

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.

��EDWARD FITZGERALD

697. Old Song

'"TIS a dull sight

• To see the year dying,

When winter winds

Set the yellow wood sighing : Sighing, O sighing!

When such a time cometh

I do retire Into an old room Beside a bright fire:

O, pile a bright fire!

�� �