Letter XXXVI.

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

Saturday morning.

  I have slept sweetly; the sun rises bright, yet still I feel sick at heart. May I find just the right word in town from you, or rather see you. If I do not, it will seem very dark. But this is your last day in the busy mart amid the falsehoods. I will cheer myself beneath that sad word—the last—by thinking you will soon be on your way to scenes more congenial to one of Grossmuth, Sanftmuth and Wahrheit.

“Nature never did deceive the heart that loved her”—

  This will not, I believe, be my last letter as I wrote. There must be a better, fuller, deeper tone.

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