y that time I shall get done with these Romances and
certainly one Tragedy (_that_ could go to press next week)--in proof
of which I will bring you, if you let me, a few more hundreds of lines
next Wednesday. But, 'my poet,' if I would, as is true, sacrifice all
my works to do your fingers, even, good--what would I not offer up to
prevent you staying ... perhaps to correct my very verses ... perhaps
read and answer my very letters ... staying the production of more
'Berthas' and 'Caterinas' and 'Geraldines,' more great and beautiful
poems of which I shall be--how proud! Do not be punctual in paying
tithes of thyme, mint, anise and cummin, and leaving unpaid the real
weighty dues of the Law; nor affect a scrupulous acknowledgment of
'what you owe me' in petty manners, while you leave me to settle such
a charge, as accessory to the hiding the Talent, as best I can! I have
thought of this again and again, and would have spoken of it to you,
had I ever felt myself fit to speak of any subject nearer home and me
and you than Rome and Cardinal Acton. For, observe, you have not done
... yes, the 'Prometheus,' no doubt ... but with that exception _have_
you written much lately, as much as last year when 'you wrote all your
best things' you said, I think? Yet you are better now than then.
Dearest friend, _I_ intend to write more, and very likely be praised
more, now I care less than ever for it, but still more do I look to
have you ever before me, in your place, and with more poetry and more
praise still, and my own heartfelt praise ever on the top, like a
flower on the water. I have said nothing of yesterday's storm ...
_thunder_ ... may you not have been out in it! The evening draws in,
and I will walk out. May God bless you, and let you hold me by the
hand till the end--Yes, dearest friend!

R.B.

_E.B.B. to R.B._

[Post-mark, August 8, 1845.]

Just to show what may be lost by my crossings out, I will tell you the
story of the one in the 'Duchess'--and in fact it is almost worth
telling to a metaphysician like you, on other grounds, that you may
draw perhaps some psychological good from the absurdity of it. Hear,
then. When I had done writing the sheet of annotations and reflections
on your poem I took up my pencil to correct the passages reflected on
with the reflections, by the crosses you may observe, just glancing
over the writi