Talent May Be In Time

No Hand Can Make The Clock Strike For Me The Hours That Are Passed.

Think Not I Am What I Appear.

Near This Spot Are Deposited The Remains Of One Who Possessed Beauty Without Vanity, Strength Without Insolence, Courage Without Ferocity, And All The Virtues Of Man, Without His Vices. This Praise, Which Would Be Unmeaning Flattery If Inscribed Over Human Ashes, Is But A Just Tribute To The Memory Of Botswain, A Dog.

Love Rules The Camp, The Court, The Grove - For Love Is Heaven, And Heaven Is Love.

Poetry Should Only Occupy The Idle.