1849
FOR ANNIE
by Edgar Allan Poe

Thank Heaven! the crisis-
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 maddened my brain-
With the fever called "Living"
That burned in my brain.

And oh! 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
A holier odor
About it, of pansies-
A rosemary odor,
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-
To the queen of the angels
To shield me from harm.

And I lie so composedly,
Now, in my bed,
(Knowing her love)
That you fancy me dead-
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.
------------------------------------------------------
Is that too big?

I did say,short didn't I???? LOL

I will try this in the afternoon... ;)

Are we supposed to do your homework for you Ted? :D

LOL @ Bogie! :p

I gave Ted the sugesstion in another thread. I thought it would be interesting to see how everyone interprets differently. ;)


I am reading it...I will post what I think asap. :)

Originally posted by TopCat
I will post what I think asap. :)

Do you need somthing to jump start your mind? :naughty:

Originally posted by Ted Nugent


Do you need somthing to jump start your mind? :naughty:
Now that you mention it.....DARN! It will have to wait 3 years!:naughty: LOL (creeped out?)

Originally posted by TopCat

(creeped out?)

Not yet, only if you post an intelligent post. Now that would scare me! :p :rolleyes: :goofy:

Are we going to start talking about images of death, narcotics, love and coffins soon?:D

That's what I was thinking, Bogie. lol

Sounds like a guy who is viewing his own funeral. Either Annie held him as he died, or met him in death. Or I'm dead tired, any of the three is possible. :D

It's about how Annie is the center of his world, his every waking thought. And how even in death her love doesn't leave him! My favorite poem of his, it deals with all his sides and emotions. Annebell lee coming in a close second. :)

He seems to try and make the point more than once that he is not dead - yet anyway.

And I rest so composedly,
Now, in my bed
That any beholder
Might fancy me dead

But makes great use of the themes of death. He describes his bed as a coffin.

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.

And, among other things, talks about the heaven of Annie's breast, the light being extinguished and the conquering of the fever called living.

There are very few things that conquer the fever of living. Narcotics, death and love come to mind. Some would say they all produce the same result - freedom from the minutiae of daily life. Just with different side-effects. :) Love though, can bring redemption with it.

It's a marvellous poem.

I think he's a moth, that has just died, drinking from the Napthaline River that quenches all thirsts. ( that is a coal dirivative that moth balls are made out of). And I think Annie his favorite article of clothing to eat

Or just maybe it's about a man who is greatful his long lingering pain has finally come to an end and he can rest in death. He's asking people not to feel bad for him as everyone will eventually be in the same situation and that although he is dead in body he is still alive in his heart as he watches he love Annie mourn and cry over his body/


ah i'll stick with the moth story

Well, at least we all agree on the love and death theories, just not how we get to them. LOL Which is a good thing, because it makes for a great discussion and interesting topic. :)

What they all said...*points to above posts* :p
:D

Originally posted by TopCat
What they all said...*points to above posts* :p
:D

Your such a retard! LOL :goofy: :D

:moon:

EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW I did not, just see your butt! :uhoh: That's beyond nasty. :p LOL

LOL!! That was not my butt! :p You perv!

Originally posted by TopCat
LOL!! That was not my butt! :p You perv!

I know, I've already seen it before. :eek: