Here blandly reposes,
Forgetting, or never 55
Regretting, its roses:
Its old agitations
Of myrtles and roses;

For now, while so quietly
Lying, it fancies 60
A holier odor
About it, of pansies:
A rosemary odor,
Commingled with pansies,
With rue and the beautiful 65
Puritan pansies.

And so it lies happily,
Bathing in many
A dream of the truth
And the beauty of Annie, 70
Drowned in a bath
Of the tresses of Annie.

She tenderly kissed me,
She fondly caressed,
And then I fell gently 75
To sleep on her breast,
Deeply to sleep
From the heaven of her breast.

When the light was extinguished,