I love you, I love you: so let good-night bring you good-morning!

N.

At long intervals, dearest, I write to you a secret all about yourself for

my eyes to see: because, chiefly because, I have not you to look at. Thus

I bless myself with you.

Away over the world west of this and a little bit north is the city of

spires where you are now. Never having seen it I am the more free to

picture it as I like: and to me it is quite full of you:--quite greedily

full, Beloved, when elsewhere you are so much wanted! I send my thoughts

there to pick up crumbs for me.

It is a strange blend of notions--wisdom and ignorance combined: for

you I seem to know perfectly; but of your life nothing at all. And

yet nobody there knows so much about you as I. What you do matters so

much less than what you are. You, who are the clearest heart in all the

world, do what you will, you are so still to me, Beloved.

I take a happy armful of thoughts about you into all my dreams: and when

I wake they are there still, and have done nothing but remain true. What

better can I ask of them?

You do love me: you have not changed? Without change I remain yours so

long as I live.

O.

And you, Beloved, what are you thinking of me all this while? Think well

of me, I beg you: I deserve so much, loving you as truly as I do!

So often, dearest, I sit thinking my hands into yours again as when we

were saying good-by the last time. Then it was, under our laughter and

light words, that I saw suddenly how the thing too great to name had

become true, that from friends we were changed into lovers. It seemed the

most natural thing to be, and yet was wonderful--for it was I who loved

you first: a thing I could never be ashamed of, and am now proud to

own--for has it not proved me wise? My love for you is the best wisdom

that I have. Good-night, dearest! Sleep as well as I love you, and nobody

in the world will sleep so soundly.

P.

A few times in my life, Beloved, I have had the Blue-moon-hunger for

something which seemed too impossible and good ever to come true: prosaic

people call it being "in the blues"; I comfort myself with a prettier word

for it. To-day, not the Blue-moon itself, but the Man of it came down and

ate plum-porridge with me! Also, I do believe that it burnt his mouth, and

am quite reasonably happy thinking so, since it makes me know that you

love me as much as ever.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024