Letter XXV.

From: Love-Letters of Margaret Fuller, 1845-1846
Published: 1903 New York


  I am seized with feelings of regret for thee, and seem to enter into thy mind. How selfishly I fret for loss of my pet dream, to walk like a child with its brave playmate. Is not yours broken just as much, finding so much of mortal in your angel? “And yet,” said Beethoven at such a time, “there is the god-like in man!” There is also the angel-like in woman—she is thus angelic long before she is angel. We love what is pure. You, I believe, will never regret aught that makes your poetic soul more conscious of its hidden treasures.

  All shall yet be so sweet, gaining, like the plants, beauty and fragrance from these cold rain-storms. The blossoms, for which I begged you to stay, are opening on the trees; will you not take me into the country the first fine day? The dust will now be laid and the air pure after the storm. Will it be inconvenient to you on Saturday, if the weather is fine? I stay in town that day to attend the Philharmonic concert in the evening.

  Mr. and Mrs. Spring wished me to go to Staten Island on Sunday, but I have not said yet whether I would go, and I hate the thought of going, thinking it might be the only day on which I could see you. But you said last Sunday, you had parting visits to make; perhaps it will be so next Sunday. Let me know about this on Saturday morning, and if not, whether I shall see you on Sunday, that I may know how to arrange. And will you let the little messenger be in waiting for me at Dr. Leger’s at nine, or a few minutes before, on Saturday morning. I feel a growing persuasion that we shall now meet most sweetly, and that our minds will be tuned in the same key and tuned with nature. So as you have begged of me not to grieve or be weary, let me pray of you not to be oppressed or embarrassed any more.

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