[Postmark: May 12, 1846]
My Ba, your flower is the one flower I have seen, or see
or shall see — when it fades ‘ I will bless it till it shine,’ and
when I can bless you no longer it shall fade with me and
my letters and . . perhaps . . my ring. Ba, if . . I was
going to say, if you meant to make me most exquisitely
happy . . and you did surely mean it . . well, you succeed,
as you know ! And I see you on the grass, and am with
you as you properly acknowledge. And by this letter’s
presence and testimony, I may judge you to be not much
the worse, — not fatigued . . is it so ? Oh, it was a good
inspiration that led you through the half-opened gate and
under the laburnum, and, better still, that made you see us
‘ one day walking by the trees together ‘ — when all I shall
say is, — I hope, in spite of that felicity to remember and
feel this, as vividly as now.
‘ For the chain you hear rattle’ . . there comes the
earthly mood again and the inspiration goes away altogether !
So you being Miss Barrett and not my Ba for the moment,
I will give you none of my, and Ba’s, syren-island illustrations,
but ask you, what a fine lady would say if you caught
at her diamond necklace and cried — ‘ You shall wear no
such chains,— indeed you shall not ! ‘ Why even Flush is
proud of his corals and blue beads, you tell me ! As for
me, — being used to bear sundry heavier chains than this of
writing to you — owning the degradation of being, for
instance, forced to respire so many times a minute in order
to live — to go out into the open air so as to continue well —
with many similarly affronting impositions on a free spirit . .
on the whole, I can very patiently submit to write a letter
which is duly read, and forgiven for its imperfections, and
interpreted into a rationality (sometimes) not its own, and
then answered by the sweetest hand that ever ministered to
the dearest, dearest Ba that ever was imagined, or can be !
Ba, — there are three Syren’s Isles, you know : I shall
infallibly get into the farthest of them, a full thirty yards
from you and the tower, — so as to need being written to —
— for the cicale make such a noise that you will not be able
to call to me — which is as well, for you may . . that is, I
might — break my neck by a sudden leap on the needles of
rocks . . as I remember the boatman told me.
As for what you wish yesterday . . the mode of my
expressing my love . . I never think of it, — I have none —
no system, nor attempt at such a thing — I begin and end by
saying I love you — whatever comes of it. There is one obvious
remark to make however . . that unless I had loved you
and felt that every instant of my life depended on you for
its support and comfort, — I should never have dreamed of
what has been proposed and accepted . . Your own good-
ness at the very beginning would have rendered that super-
fluous ; for I was put in possession of your friendship, —
might write to you, and receive letters — might even hope to
see you as often as anybody — would not this have sufficed a
reasonable friendship? May not Mr. Kenyon be your
satisfied friend ? . But all was different — and so ——
So I am blessed now — and can only bless you. But
goodbye, dearest, till to-morrow — and next day, which is
ours. At 8 — eight I conjecture my martyrdom may take
place . . oh, think of me and help me ! I shall feel you, —
as ever. You forgot the letter after all . . can you send
it ? It may be convenient to produce, as I know nobody of
them all — terrible it is altogether ! ‘ At six ‘ the dinner
begins —— 1 shall get behind my brother Dramatists . .
and say very little about them, even.
Kiss me, in any case, of failure, or success, — and the
one will be forgotten, and the other doubled, centupled — to
your own —