Letter LXVIII

Dearest, what I can tell you of older days,--little things they must be--I
will: and I know that if you ever come to value them at all, their
littleness will make them doubly welcome:--just as to know that you were
once called a "gallous young hound" by people whom you plagued when a boy,
was to me a darling discovery: all at once I caught my childhood's
imaginary comrade to my young spirit's heart and kissed him, brow and
eyes.

Good-night, good-night! To-morrow I will find you some earliest memory:
the dew of Hermon be on it when you come to it--if ever!

Oh, Beloved, could you see into my heart now, or I into yours, time
would grow to nothing for us; and my childhood would stay unwritten!

From far and near I gather my thoughts of you for the kiss I cannot
give. Good-night, dearest.

Chapter 68 - Page 2 of 2