The Letters of Two Romantics
Saturday Morning.
June 7, 1845.
I ventured to hope this morning might bring me news of you – – First East-winds on you, then myself, then those criticisms! – – I do assure you I am properly apprehensive. How are you? May I go on Wednesday without too much ανθαδια. Continue reading “#38”
Friday Morning.
June 7, 1845.
When I see all you have done for me in this ‘Prometheus,’ I feel more than half ashamed both of it and of me for using your time so, and forced to say in my own defence (not to you but myself) that I never thought of meaning to inflict such work on you who might be doing so much better things in the meantime both for me and for others — Continue reading “#37”