There Is Not A Fiercer Hell Than

She Hurried At His Words, Beset With Fears, For There Were Sleeping Dragons All Around.

Here Lies One Whose Name Was Writ In Water.

My Spirit Is Too Weak--mortality Weighs Heavily On Me Like Unwilling Sleep, And Each Imagin'd Pinnacle And Steep Of Godlike Hardship Tells Me I Must Die Like A Sick Eagle Looking At The Sky.

I Must Choose Between Despair And Energy──i Choose The Latter.

To Feel Forever Its Soft Fall And Swell, Awake For Ever In A Sweet Unrest, Still, Still To Hear Her Tender-taken Breath, And So Live Ever-or Else Swoon In Death.