early June 1878
When you wrote you would come in November, it would please me it were November then - but the time has moved - You went with the coming of the Birds-they will go with your coming-but to see you is so much sweeter than Birds, I could excuse the spring.
With the bloom of the flower your friend loved, I have wished for her, but God cannot discontinue himself.
Mr Bowles was not willing to die.
When you have lost a friend, Master, you remember you could not begin again, because there was no World. I have thought of you often since the Darkness-though we cannot assist another's Night-
I have hoped you were saved-
That those have immortality with whom we talked about it, makes it no more mighty-but perhaps more sudden-
How brittle are the PiersI hope you have been well. I hope your rambles have been sweet and your reveries spacious - To have seen Stratford on Avon - and the Dresden Madonna, must be almost Peace-
And perhaps you have spoken with George Eliot. Will you "tell me about it"? Will you come in November, and will November come- or is this the Hope that opens and shuts, like the eye of the Wax Doll?