[Postmark: May 11, 1846]
I am always telling you, because always feeling, that I
can express nothing of what goes from my heart to you, my
Ba ; but there is a certain choice I have all along exercised,
of subjects on which I would try and express somewhat —
while others might be let alone with less disadvantage.
When we first met, it was in your thought that I loved you
only for your poetry . . I think you thought that. And be-
cause one might be imagined to love that and not you, —
because everybody must love it, indeed, that is worthy, and yet
needs not of necessity love you, — yet might mistake or determine
to love you through loving it . . for all these reasons,
there was not the immediate demand on me for a full ex-
pression of my admiration for your intellectuality, — do you
see ? Rather, it was proper to insist as little as possible on
it, and speak to the woman, Ba, simply — and so I have tried
to speak, — partly, in truth, because I love her best, and love
her mind by the light and warmth of her heart — reading her
verses, saying ‘ and these are Ba’s,’ — not kissing her less
because they spoke the verses. But it does not follow that
I have lost the sense of any delight that has its source in
you, my dearest, dearest — however I may choose to live
habitually with certain others in preference. I would shut
myself up with you, and die to the world, and live out fifty
long, long lives in bliss through your sole presence — but it
is no less true that it will also be an ineffable pride, — some-
thing too sweet for the name of pride, — to avow myself,
before anyone whose good opinion I am soliciting to retain,
as so distinguished by you — it is too sweet, indeed, — so I
guard against it, — for frequent allusion to it, might, — (as I
stammer, and make plain things unintelligible) . . might
cause you to misconceive me, which would be dreadful
. . for after all, Ba’s head has given the crown its worth, —
though a wondrous crown it is, too ! All this means . .
the avowal we were speaking of, will be a heart’s pride above
every other pride whenever you decide on making such an
avowal. You will understand as you do ever your own R.
On getting home I found letters and letters — the best
being a summons to meet Tennyson at Moxon’s on Tuesday,
— and the frightfullest . . nay, I will send it. Now, Ba,
hold my hand from the distant room, tighter than ever, at
about 8 o’clock on Wednesday . . for I must go, I fear
— ‘ Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking’ &c. &c.
‘ ἐα, ἐα, ἀπεχε, φεῦ.’ Then Mr. Kenyon writes that his
friend Commodore Jones is returned to England in bad
health and that he must away to Portsmouth and see him
— so I do not go on Monday. While I was away Chorley’s
brother (John Chorley) called, — having been put to the
trouble of a journey hither for nothing.
I have been out this morning — to church with my sister
— and the sun shone almost oppressively, — but now all is
black and threatening. How I send my heart after your
possible movements, my own all-beloved ! Care for your-
self, and for me. But a few months more, — if God shall
please. May He bless you —
Ever your own
Hail and rain — at a quarter to four o’clock !