The only poet by profession (if I may say so,) except yourself, with whom I ever had much intercourse even on paper, (if this is near to ‘much’) has been Mr. Horne.  We approached each other on the point of one of Miss Mitford’s annual editorships; and ever since, he has had the habit of writing to me occasionally; and when I was too ill to write at all, in my dreary Devonshire days, I was his debtor for various little kindnesses, ... for which I continue his debtor.  In my opinion he is a truehearted and generous man.  Do you not think so?  Well—­long and long ago, he asked me to write a drama with him on the Greek model; that is, for me to write the choruses, and for him to do the dialogue.  Just then it was quite doubtful in my own mind, and worse than doubtful, whether I ever should write again; and the very doubtfulness made me speak my ‘yes’ more readily.  Then I was desired to make a subject, ... to conceive a plan; and my plan was of a man, haunted by his own soul, ... (making her a separate personal Psyche, a dreadful, beautiful Psyche)—­the man being haunted and terrified through all the turns of life by her.  Did you ever feel afraid of your own soul, as I have done?  I think it is a true wonder of our humanity—­and fit subject enough for a wild lyrical drama.  I should like to write it by myself at least, well enough.  But with him I will not now.  It was delayed ... delayed.  He cut the plan up into scenes ...  I mean into a list of scenes ... a sort of ground-map to work on—­and there it lies.  Nothing more was done.  It all lies in one sheet—­and I have offered to give up my copyright of idea in it—­if he likes to use it alone—­or I should not object to work it out alone on my own side, since it comes from me:  only I will not consent now to a double work in it.  There are objections—­none, be it well understood, in Mr. Horne’s disfavour,—­for I think of him as well at this moment, and the same in all essential points, as I ever did.  He is a man of fine imagination, and is besides good and generous.  In the course of our acquaintance (on paper—­for I never saw him) I never was angry with him except once; and then, I was quite wrong and had to confess it.  But this is being too ‘mediaeval.’  Only you will see from it that I am a little entangled on the subject of compound works, and must look where I tread ... and you will understand (if you ever hear from Mr. Kenyon or elsewhere that I am going to write a compound-poem with Mr. Horne) how it was true, and isn’t true any more.

Yes—­you are going to Mr. Kenyon’s on the 12th—­and yes—­my brother and sister are going to meet you and your sister there one day to dinner.  Shall I have courage to see you soon, I wonder!  If you ask me, I must ask myself.  But oh, this make-believe May—­it can’t be May after all!  If a south-west wind sate in your chestnut tree, it was but for a few hours—­the east wind ‘came up this way’ by the earliest opportunity of succession.