Here Lies One Whose Name Was Writ

Load Every Rift With Ore.

I Have Two Luxuries To Brood Over In My Walks, Your Loveliness And The Hour Of My Death. O That I Could Have Possession Of Them Both In The Same Minute.

I Myself Am Pursuing The Same Instinctive Course As The Veriest Human Animal You Can Think Of I Am, However Young, Writing At Random Straining At Particles Of Light In The Midst Of A Great Darkness Without Knowing The Bearing Of Any One Assertion, Of Any One Opinion. Yet May I Not In This Be Free From Sin?

The Imagination May Be Compared To Adam's Dream-he Awoke And Found It Truth.

The Roaring Of The Wind Is My Wife And The Stars Through The Window Pane Are My Children.