For Annie Edgar Allan Poe 1849 ( Read by Gavin Friday Closed on Account of Rabies Compilation)

For Annie 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 sicknessthe 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 abatedthe terrible Torture of thirst For