[To Mrs. Brawne.] "_February 14._ His mind is growing to great quietness and peace. I find this change has its rise from the increasing weakness of his body; but it seems like a delightful sleep to me, I have been beating about in the tempest of his mind so long. To-night he has talked very much to me, but so easily that he at last fell into a pleasant sleep. He seems to have comfortable dreams without nightmare. This will bring on some change: it cannot be worse--it may be better. Among the many things he has requested of me to-night, this is the principal--that on his grave shall be this, 'Here lies one whose name was writ in water.'... Such a letter has come! I gave it to Keats, supposing it to be one of yours; but it proved sadly otherwise. The glance of that letter tore him to pieces. The effects were on him for many days. He did not read it--he could not; but requested me to place it in his coffin, together with a purse and letter (unopened) of his sister's: since which time he has requested me not to place _that_ letter in his coffin, but only his sister's purse and letter, with some hair. Then he found many causes of his illness in the exciting and thwarting of his passions; but I persuaded him to feel otherwise on this delicate point.... I have got an English nurse to come two hours every other day.... He has taken half a pint of fresh milk: the milk here is beautiful to all the senses--it is delicious. For three weeks he has lived on it, sometimes taking a pint and a half in a day. "_February 22._ This morning, by the pale daylight, the change in him frightened me: he has sunk in the last three days to a most ghastly look.... He opens his eyes in great doubt and horror; but, when they fall upon me, they close gently, open quietly, and close again, till he sinks to sleep. "_February 27._ He is gone. He died with the most perfect ease--he seemed to go to sleep. On the 23rd, about four, the approaches of death came on. 'Severn--I--lift me up. I am dying--I shall die easy. Don't be frightened: be firm, and thank God it has come.' I lifted him up in my arms. The phlegm seemed boiling in his throat, and increased until eleven, when he gradually sank into death, so quiet that I still thought he slept. I cannot say more now. I am broken down by four nights' watching, no sleep since, and my poor Keats gone. Three days since the body was opened: the lungs were completely gone. The doctors could not imagine how he had lived these two months. I followed his dear body to the grave on Monday [February 26th], with many English.... The letters I placed in the coffin with my own hand." No words of mine shall be added here to tarnish upon the mirror of memory this image of a sacred death and a sacred friendship. CHAPTER IV.