Fancy Me Dead

Thank Heaven! The crisis -
The danger Is past
And the fever called "Living
Is conquered at last
Sadly I know
I'm shorn of my strength
As I lle here
Lie at full length
And I rest so composed
Now, In my bed
That any beholder
Might fancy me dead -
Might fancy me dead
The moaning and groaning
The sighing and sobbing
I'm quiet now
But that horrible throbbing
And the sickness, the nausea
The pitiless pain
Have ceased, with the fever
That maddened my brain
And oh! all the tortures
The worst has abated -
The terrible torture
Of the thirst now sated
For that naphthaline river
Of Passion accurst
I have drunk of a water
That quenches all thirst
Would you fancy me dead?
Of a water that flows
With a lullaby sound
From a spring a few feet
Under the ground
And ah! let it never
Be foolishly sald
That my room it was gloomy
And narrow my bed
Would you fancy me dead?
For that man never slept
In a different bed --
And, to sleep, you must slumber
In just such a bed
My tantalised spirit
Here blandly reposes
Forgetting, or never
Regretting, Its roses
Would you fancy me dead?
For now, while so quletly
Lying, It fancles
A holler odour
About It, of pansles -
Would you fancy me dead?