For the onlookers, particularly for Huxley who was there, it was merely terrible to see the light withdrawn from those bright and daring eyes by the nature of the struggle. But to Frieda, Lawrence's courage was more vivid even than his suffering. 'Had you seen his splendid fight to the last,' she wrote to me soon after, 'and his courageous dying it would have given you courage, it was inspiring.'
It ended within two days of his move to the Villa Robermond. On the 2nd of March, 1930, in his forty-fifth year, died this great English writer and Englishman of destiny. He did more than make his mark on his generation; he marked a way out. For the honour and material success which would have come, and which he would have enjoyed and handled well, he lived not long enough. But all the more he was victorious. Against terrific odds he did his work, held to his belief and lived his life richly. When we in London heard of his death, it was the sense of our own failure that came home to us - that and the sense of Lawrence's potency in death as in life. He needed, and needs now, no funeral oration. His emblem, the phoenix, has not played him false. If it be true of any man it is true of him, what he said himself - 'the dead don't die. They look on and help.'
A chapel east of Taos, New Mexico, where Lawrence's ashes are interred
D.H.Lawrence’s grave — Taos, New Mexico, USA
Complete Works of D.H. Lawrence Page 1142