Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/858

 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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