about 1878

Tuesday is a deeply depressing Day - it is not far enough from your dear note for the embryo of another to form, and yet what flights of Distance - and so I perish softly and spurn the Birds (spring) and spurn the Sun - with pathetic (dejected) malice - but when the Sun begins to turn the corner Thursday night - everything refreshes - the soft uplifting grows till by the time it is Sunday night, all my Life (Cheek) is Fever with nearness to your blissful words - (rippling words)