Graved Inside Of It, "italy".

Believeth With The Life, The Pain Shall Stop.

I Was Made And Meant To Look For You And Wait For You And Become Yours Forever.

Genius Has Somewhat Of The Infantine; But Of The Childish Not A Touch Or Taint.

Stung By The Splendour Of A Sudden Thought.

God Smiles As He Has Always Smiled; Ere Suns And Moons Could Wax And Wane, Ere Stars Were Thundergirt, Or Piled The Heavens, God Thought On Me His Child; Ordained A Life For Me, Arrayed Its Circumstances, Every One To The Minutest; Ay, God Said This Head This Hand Should Rest Upon Thus, Ere He Fashioned Star Or Sun.