Here lies one whose name was writ in water.

I want a brighter word than bright

What shocks the virtuous philosopher, delights the chameleon poet.

Alas! when passion is both meek and wild!

Or thou might'st better listen to the wind, Whose language is to thee a barren noise, Though it blows legend-laden through the trees.

All writing is a form of prayer.

Their woes gone by, and both to heaven upflown, To bow for gratitude before Jove's throne.