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.
EDGAR ALLAN POE
CRY OF THE TEN THOUSAND.
I stand upon the summit of my life,
Behind, the camp, the court, the field, the grove,
The battle, and the burden: vast, afar
Beyond these weary ways. Behold! the Sea!
The sea o'erswept by clouds and winds and wings;
By thoughts and wishes manifold, whose breath
Is freshness and whose mighty pulse is peace.
Palter no question of the horizon dim—
Cut loose the bark! Such voyage itself is rest,
Majestic motion, unimpeded scope,
A widening heaven, a current without care,
Eternity!—deliverance, promise, course!
Time-tired souls salute thee from the shore.
JOSEPH BROWNLEE BROWN.