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"But, what you suggest is desecration!
That we should intrude upon her resting place
as though we were no better than the most
                         wretched of body snatchers!

"How can you propose so despicable a scheme?
I did the poor woman too much wrong while
yet she lived. How should I disinter her from
                                                      her grave?

"And yet, Gabriel, the dead always sleep soundly,
no matter who disturbs their bed.

"And were she with us still, is there
any sacrifice that she would not make for you?

We shall act as gently as angels,
I shall organise everything. I shall see
that she is treated with the greatest of respect."

Henry, I can't bear to listen, say no more.
Were not the poems as it were a final gift?
How can I cause the soil to be clawed away
to reclaim what I have already dedicated
                                                       to her?"

2
"I managed to persuade Gabriel that
what I said was true, in spite
of the séances he took
his aching conscience to.  You,
of course, judge me too. But I
loved the man, I loved his art,
how could I stand by and let him,
as a poet and a painter, die,
while hollow eyed, his ghost
still lived among us? He had
even started to believe that his
eyes were failing him.

No, I regret nothing. When I restored
his poems, I restored his life. Let
who will revile me. Let us hope, when
tested, that they love their friends
                          as selflessly as I!"

"To be sure that there could be
no scandal, we did the work in Highgate
Cemetery at the dead of night. With me
I carried a warrant signed by
the Home Secretary himself. None
could question us. I found a gang
of hardy lads, who could be tempted
by a silencing of gold. I set them on

"Have care, " I cried. "We must leave
as little trace as miracles do." I told them
that the opening of the coffin was for me alone.

"I found the book still whole, with pages
still turnable. With gloved hands, I packed
it in a sack. The lads were quick to restore
the scene. I paid them well."

3

"My God, I was heartsick when he returned
those buried pages to me. He wove a
pretty story round that gruesome night.
He told me that her copper tresses
had never ceased to grow. I wept.

"Yet I transcribed them all. Now
the book that had contained the poems
is destroyed. As for Henry, I cannot
say that I can any longer enjoy
his company. I believe that
we try to avoid each other.