And What Is Life? - An Hour-glass

My Fears Are Agitated To An Extreme Degree And The Dread Of Death Involves Me In A Stupor Of Chilling Indisposition.

So Dull And Dark Are The November Days. The Lazy Mist High Up The Evening Curled, And Now The Morn Quite Hides In Smoke And Haze; The Place We Occupy Seems All The World.

I Long For Scenes Where Man Has Never Trod;... There To Abide With My Creator, God.

I Live Here Among The Ignorant Like A Lost Man In Fact Like One Whom The Rest Seems Careless Of Having Anything To Do With — They Hardly Dare Talk In My Company For Fear I Shoud Mention Them In My Writings & I Find More Pleasure In Wandering The Fields Then In Mixing Among My Silent Neighbours Who Are Insensible Of Everything But Toiling & Talking Of It & That To No Purpose.

He Could Not Die When The Trees Were Green, For He Loved The Time Too Well.