Letter LX

To-day, dearest, a letter from you reached me: a fallen star which had
lost its way. It lies dead in my bosom. It was the letter that lost itself
in the post while I was traveling: it comes now with half a dozen
postmarks, and signs of long waiting in one place. In it you say, "We have
been engaged now for two whole months; I never dreamed that two moons
could contain so much happiness." Nor I, dearest! We have now been
separated for three; and till now I had not dreamed that time could so
creep, to such infinitely small purpose, as it has in carrying me from the
moment when I last saw you.

You were so dear to me, Beloved; that you ever are! Time changes
nothing in you as you seemed to me then. Oh, I am sick to touch your
hands: all my thoughts run to your service: they seem to hear you call,
only to find locked doors.

If you could see me now I think you would open the door for a little
while.

If they came and told me--"You are to see him just for five minutes, and
then part again"--what should I be wanting most to say to you? Nothing--
only "Speak, speak!" I would have you fill my heart with your voice the
whole time: five minutes more of you to fold my life round. It would
matter very little what you said, barring the one thing that remains never
to be said.