Sleep Hath Its Own World, And The

Our Life Is Two Fold Sleep Hath Its Own World, A Boundary Between The Things Misnamed Death And Existence Sleep Hath Its Own World, And A Wide Realm Of Wild Reality.

Here Lies Interred In The Eternity Of The Past, From Whence There Is No Resurrection For The Days - Whatever There May Be For The Dust - The Thirty-third Year Of An Ill-spent Life, Which, After A Lingering Disease Of Many Months Sank Into A Lethargy, And Expired, January 22d, 1821, A.d. Leaving A Successor Inconsolable For The Very Loss Which Occasioned Its Existence.

O Fame! If I Ever Took Delight In Thy Praises, Twas Less For The Sake Of Thy High-sounding Phrases, Than To See The Bright Eyes Of The Dear One Discover The Thought That I Was Not Unworthy To Love Her.

By Heaven! It Is A Splendid Sight To See For One Who Hath No Friend, No Brother There.

What Exile From Himself Can Flee? To Zones, Though More And More Remote, Still, Still Pursues, Where'er I Be, The Blight Of Life--the Demon Thought.