On the morning of the 12th—a day of wild storm, wind, thunder and rain—he recognised that nothing could avail. With characteristic swiftness he turned his eager mind from the life that was closing to the life of greater possibilities that he knew awaited him. About 3 o’clock, with his devoted friend Alec Hood by his side, he suddenly leant forward with shining eyes and exclaimed in a tone of joyous recognition, “Oh, the beautiful ‘Green Life’ again!” and the next moment sank back in my arms with the contented sigh, “Ah, all is well.”
On the 14th, in an hour of lovely sunshine, the body was laid to rest in a little woodland burial-ground on the hillside within sound of the Simeto; as part of the short service, his own “Invocation to Peace,” from The Dominion of Dreams, was read over the grave by the Duke of Bronte. Later, an Iona cross, carved in lava, was placed there, and on it this inscription, chosen by himself:
Farewell to the known and exhausted,
Welcome the unknown and illimitable
and
Love is more great than we conceive, and Death is the keeper of unknown redemptions.
F. M.
Now, truly, is Dreamland no longer a phantasy of sleep, but a loveliness so great that, like deep music, there could be no words wherewith to measure it, but only the breathless unspoken speech of the soul upon whom has fallen the secret dews.
F. M.