From: Love-Letters of Margaret Fuller, 1845-1846
Author:
Published: 1903 New York
This bleak morning is like those by which the hopes of the children in my native state (of the rock-bound coast and terrible climate) are almost always disappointed. The world is full of blossoms, but they are not happy in this cold air. I meant to have sent you some of the fairest, but now will not. Let everything be alike in so bleak a day. You too will pass it in the midst of car-men.
After you went away the other night, I felt unusually grieved, not to have shown my soul more. I felt so deeply all you felt about this mis-tuned life, and longed to express my sympathy in a thousand sweet ways, but the things that come to me to do are so childish. I have not courage, being grown up, and they sometimes mutiny with the forms of the world. But the thoughts I had, with the swell of their religion, kept me awake all night, and thus I was unfit to meet a very fatiguing day, and last night, tired and with headache, could not write. Thus it so often is. Feeling keeps from doing, what would show it.
The Editor is gone away till Sunday and the evenings are open to music. Will you not come to-morrow evening? You know there was to be one with the guitar and there may not be such another free opportunity.
Farewell, mein Liebster. Shall I not find a letter? I want one.
All Sub-Works of Love-Letters of Margaret Fuller, 1845-1846:
PDF Sub-Works open in a new tab. Close the tab when done viewing to return here.
