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EDGAR ALLAN POE
Sadly, I know
I am shorn of my strength, And no muscle I move
As I lie at full length: But no matter 1 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 burn'd in my brain.
And O 1 of all tortures That torture the worst
Has abated the terrible
Torture of thirst
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