The Works of Edgar Allan Poe - Volume 2


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the disease restored me, suddenly, to perfect sensation. At other  
times I was quickly and impetuously smitten. I grew sick, and numb, and  
chilly, and dizzy, and so fell prostrate at once. Then, for weeks, all  
was void, and black, and silent, and Nothing became the universe.  
Total annihilation could be no more. From these latter attacks I awoke,  
however, with a gradation slow in proportion to the suddenness of the  
seizure. Just as the day dawns to the friendless and houseless beggar  
who roams the streets throughout the long desolate winter night--just  
so tardily--just so wearily--just so cheerily came back the light of the  
Soul to me.  
Apart from the tendency to trance, however, my general health appeared  
to be good; nor could I perceive that it was at all affected by the one  
prevalent malady--unless, indeed, an idiosyncrasy in my ordinary sleep  
may be looked upon as superinduced. Upon awaking from slumber, I could  
never gain, at once, thorough possession of my senses, and always  
remained, for many minutes, in much bewilderment and perplexity;--the  
mental faculties in general, but the memory in especial, being in a  
condition of absolute abeyance.  
In all that I endured there was no physical suffering but of moral  
distress an infinitude. My fancy grew charnel, I talked "of worms, of  
tombs, and epitaphs." I was lost in reveries of death, and the idea  
of premature burial held continual possession of my brain. The ghastly  
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