Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/859

 EDGAR ALLAN POE

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.1 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

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