It Chills My Blood To

In A Fleshly Tomb, I Am Buried Above Ground.

I Am Out Of Humanity's Reach.i Must Finish My Journey Alone,never Hear The Sweet Music Of Speech;i Start At The Sound Of My Own.

Grief Is Itself A Medicine.

All Truth Is Precious, If Not All Divine; And What Dilates The Powers Must Needs Refine.

Spring Hangs Her Infant Blossoms On The Trees, Rock'd In The Cradle Of The Western Breeze.