From: Love-Letters of Margaret Fuller, 1845-1846
Published: 1903 New York
MY DEAR FRIEND,
For the memory of the frank words of yesterday makes it impossible for me to address you more distantly—I feared, when you went away, that you believed, I, too, did not sympathize with you, or I could not have said I was so happy, when you had just been telling me of your deep wants. You seemed repelled by this, but, indeed, it was not because I did not feel. It is difficult for me to put into words, what was in my mind, but you will understand it when you know me more. Yet let me say to you, that I think it is great sin ever to dream of wishing for less thought, less feeling, than one has. Let us be steadfast in prizing these precious gifts under all circumstances.
The violet cannot wish to be again imprisoned in the sod because she may be trampled on by some rude foot. Indeed our lives are sad, but it will not always be so. Heaven is bound to find for every noble and natural feeling its response and its home at last. But I cannot say much, only I would have you remember yesterday with pleasure as does.
The birds this morning were in full song, like April. Should you like to go with me on Monday evening to hear the Messiah? If so, will you come to tea to Mr. Cranch’s at six or a little later and take me? You may be engaged, or you may not love Handel’s music; in either case, let me know by note and I can find another guardian without difficulty. They will send a note from the Tribune office, if you wish, but if it be your desire to go, that is not necessary.
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