Hearts of poets

I am wrapping myself in the works and lives of Percy Bysshe Shelley, his wife Mary Shelley and Edgar Allan Poe.

Percy's heart was taken from the funeral pyre he was cremated in and Mary kept it with her for the rest of her life. After that it was buried with their son.
Shelley's ashes were interred in the Protestant Cemetery in Rome under an ancient pyramid in the city walls. His grave bears the Latin inscription,
Cor Cordium ("Heart of Hearts")
and a couple lines from Shakespeare's "The tempest".

Edward Trelawny, his close friend didn't like the position among many other graves and moved the ashes to a more solitary spot. Over sixty years later his own remains were also placed there. At his request, these lines from Shelley were carved on his tombstone:

"These are two friends whose lives were undivided.

So let their memory be now they have glided
Under the grave: let not their bone be parted
For their two hearts in life were single-hearted."

Adonaïs was written for John Keats, who was buried in the same cemetery.

Talk about true love and friendship...I see in front of me a very tight bond between individuals that dedicated their lives to art and the spirit of what they created.
It is as if they shared a current of inspiration and the eternal.
Although he was an atheist, I think it's possible that he aquired a form of immortality. You don't have to believe in or serve a god to live forever, it's enough that you have experienced the kind of love that changes everything within or makes you remember what hope is. Not changing you as much as a mirror showing your true self, the realization of the pure core free from conditioning and restraint.

From the play "Prometheus unbound", final lines:

This is the day, which down the void abysm
At the Earth-born's spell yawns for Heaven's despotism,
And Conquest is dragged captive through the deep:
Love, from its awful throne of patient power
In the wise heart, from the last giddy hour
Of dead endurance, from the slippery, steep,
And narrow verge of crag-like agony, springs
And folds over the world its healing wings.

Gentleness, Virtue, Wisdom, and Endurance,
These are the seals of that most firm assurance
Which bars the pit over Destruction's strength;
And if, with infirm hand, Eternity,
Mother of many acts and hours, should free
The serpent that would clasp her with his length;
These are the spells by which to re-assume
An empire o'er the disentangled doom.

To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite;
To forgive wrongs darker than death or night;
To defy Power, which seems omnipotent;
To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates
From its own wreck the thing it contemplates;
Neither to change, nor falter, nor repent;
This, like thy glory, Titan, is to be
Good, great and joyous, beautiful and free;
This is alone Life, Joy, Empire, and Victory.