letters from dickinson to emily fowler ford

about 1851

I'm so afraid you'll forget me dear Emily - through these cold winter days, when I cannot come to see you, that I cannot forbear writing the least little bit of a note - to put you in mind of me; perhaps it will make you laugh - it may be foolish in me but I love you so well sometimes - not that I do not always - but more dearly sometimes - and with such a desire to see you that I find myself addressing you almost ere I'm aware. When I am as old as you and have had so many friends, perhaps they wont seem so precious, and then I shant write any more little "billet doux" like these, but you will forgive me now, because I cant find many so dear to me as you - then I know I cant have you always - some day a "brave dragoon" will be stealing you away and I will have farther to go to discover you at all - so I shall recollect all these sweet opportunities and feel so sorry if I did'nt improve them. I wish I had something new, or very happy, to tell you, which would fill that lofty kitchen with sunshine all day long, but there is nothing new - neither indeed there can be - for things have got so old; but something happy there is if the remembrance of friends is always sweet and joyful. Solve this little problem, dear Emily, if you possibly can: You have "so many" friends - you know how very many - then if all of them love you half so well as me, say - how much will it make?

I fancy I catch you ciphering on the funniest little slate, with the airiest little pencil - I will not interrupt you -

Dear Emilie -

thomas johnson's note on letter 40 | index to dickinson/ford letters

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