Here Lies One Whose Name

Where Soil Is, Men Grow, Whether To Weeds Or Flowers.

The Feel Of Not To Feel It, When There Is None To Heal It Nor Numbed Sense To Steel It.

If I Should Die, I Have Left No Immortal Work Behind Me — Nothing To Make My Friends Proud Of My Memory — But I Have Loved The Principle Of Beauty In All Things, And If I Had Had Time I Would Have Made Myself Remembered.

Faded The Flower And All Its Budded Charms,faded The Sight Of Beauty From My Eyes,faded The Shape Of Beauty From My Arms,faded The Voice, Warmth, Whiteness, Paradise!vanishd Unseasonably

To Stay Youthful, Stay Useful.