taking that occasion to allude to the general and customary delight in your works:  I did write, on the whole, UNWILLINGLY ... with consciousness of having to speak on a subject which I felt thoroughly concerning, and could not be satisfied with an imperfect expression of.  As for expecting THEN what has followed ...  I shall only say I was scheming how to get done with England and go to my heart in Italy.  And now, my love—­I am round you ... my whole life is wound up and down and over you....  I feel you stir everywhere.  I am not conscious of thinking or feeling but about you, with some reference to you—­so I will live, so may I die!  And you have blessed me beyond the bond, in more than in giving me yourself to love; inasmuch as you believed me from the first ... what you call ‘dream-work’ was real of its kind, did you not think? and now you believe me, I believe and am happy, in what I write with my heart full of love for you.  Why do you tell me of a doubt, as now, and bid me not clear it up, ’not answer you?’ Have I done wrong in thus answering?  Never, never do me direct wrong and hide for a moment from me what a word can explain as now.  You see, you thought, if but for a moment, I loved your intellect—­or what predominates in your poetry and is most distinct from your heart—­better, or as well as you—­did you not? and I have told you every thing,—­explained everything ... have I not?  And now I will dare ... yes, dearest, kiss you back to my heart again; my own.  There—­and there!

And since I wrote what is above, I have been reading among other poems that sonnet—­’Past and Future’—­which affects me more than any poem I ever read.  How can I put your poetry away from you, even in these ineffectual attempts to concentrate myself upon, and better apply myself to what remains?—­poor, poor work it is; for is not that sonnet to be loved as a true utterance of yours?  I cannot attempt to put down the thoughts that rise; may God bless me, as you pray, by letting that beloved hand shake the less ...  I will only ask, the less ... for being laid on mine through this life!  And, indeed, you write down, for me to calmly read, that I make you happy!  Then it is—­as with all power—­God through the weakest instrumentality ... and I am past expression proud and grateful—­My love,

I am your

R.B.

I must answer your questions:  I am better—­and will certainly have your injunction before my eyes and work quite moderately.  Your letters come straight to me—­my father’s go to Town, except on extraordinary occasions, so that all come for my first looking-over.  I saw Mr. K. last night at the Amateur Comedy—­and heaps of old acquaintances—­and came home tired and savage—­and yearned literally, for a letter this morning, and so it came and I was well again.  So, I am not even to have your low spirits leaning on mine?  It was just because I