To the best of my poor ability I have executed 
his wishes, omitting, however, his name and all 
references sufficiently precise to give pain to any 
person still living.  His handwriting was abomin-
ably difficult, some words quite indecipherable.  I 
have spent long and laborious hours in conjecture, 
and have, I hope, restored his meaning in almost 
every case.  But in the sonnets of the 12th, 18th, 
23rd, 24th, 29th, 35th, 41st, 43rd and 48th days, 
also in “ At Last,” “ Love and Fear,” and “ Lethe,” 
one or more whole lines have been almost im-
possible to read.  The literary student will be able 
readily to detect my patchwork emendations.  
These I have dared to make because his whole 
pattern (may I use the word ?) is so elaborate and 
perfect that I fear to annoy the reader by leaving 
any blanks, feeling that my own poverty of diction 
will be less noticeable than any actual hiatus in 
the sense or rhythm.  I attempt neither eulogy nor 
criticism here.  Indeed, it seems to me entirely 
uncalled for.  His words were :  “ Let the world 
know how wonderful it was,” that is, his love  
 
xi