[Postmark: May 30, 1846]
Saturday.
Oh, yes, do ‘ show me how to get rid of you,’ my best
Ba,— for so I shall have the virtuous delight of deciding to
keep you, instead of being wholly kept by you, — it is all out
of my head, now, how I used to live when I was my own :
and if you can, by one more witchery, give me back that
feeling for once . . Ba, I have no heart to write more
nonsense, when I can take your dearest self into my arms ;
yet I shall never quite lie quiet and happy, I do think . .
I shall be always wishing you would be angry and cruel
and unjust, for a moment, — for my love overflows the
bounds, needs to prove itself all which is foolish, I know.
To-day, for some unknown reason, is a day of hope with me
. . all bright things seem possible ; I was feeling them so,
when your note came — as I sate in the garden — and when I
saw the flower (Paracelsus’ own . . they usually ornament
his pictures with it, — I said something on the subject in
the poem, too, and gave a note about ‘ Flammula citrinula
— herba Paracelso multum familiaris ‘ — ) when I saw that,
and read on and on, — every now and then laying the letter
down to feel the entire joy, — and when the end came, —
Ba, dearest Ba, it was with me then as now, as always after
steady thinking of what you are to me . . I cannot tell you
— but for the past, utterly irrespective of the future, — for
what you have been, this love cannot cease though you were
transformed into all you are not nor could ever be. I mean,
that after the blow struck, the natural vibration must follow
and continue its proper period — and that my love for what
I have received from you already must last to my life’s end
— cannot end sooner ! ‘ Shall I continue to love you ! ‘
You said in Thursday’s letter — ‘We have not been
frightened much yet,’ our meetings have been uninterrupted
hitherto, and these letters : yes, that I am most thankful for
— whatever should happen, our real relation one to the
other is wholly known — that fact has been established
beyond possibility of doubt at least. I don’t make myself
understood here, I know, — but, think, — if at the very
beginning any accident had separated us . .
But I will believe in the end now and henceforth — I
will believe you are my very own Ba, — my best dream’s
realization, my life’s fulfilment and consummation — and
having discovered you, I shall live and die with you. So
may God dispose.
I will write the rest, — (nothing is here) a longer letter
to-morrow — but now my mind is too full of you — the poor
hand gets despised for lagging after ! All my thoughts are
with you, dearest. May God bless you and make me less
unworthy — being your own, own R.
One more day — one, and Monday !
(See what kindness of Mr. Kenyon ! I do not accept,
having no need to trouble him as he desires — but see how
kind.)