Page:Edgar Allan Poe - how to know him.djvu/253

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
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—