early 1883

Dear friend -

I had hoped to see you, but have no grace to talk, and my own Words so chill and burn me, that the temperature of other Minds is too new an Awe -

We shun it ere it comes,
Afraid of Joy,
Then sue it to delay
And lest it fly,
Beguile it more and more -
May not this be
Old Suitor Heaven,
Like our dismay at thee?

E. Dickinson.