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- My Sweet Girl:
- Your Letter gave me more delight than any thing in the world but yourself could do;
- indeed I am almost astonished that any absent one should have that luxurious power over my senses which I feel.
- Even when I am not thinking of you I receive your influence and a tenderer nature stealing upon me.
- All my thoughts, my unhappiest days and nights have I find not at all cured me of my love of Beauty,
- but made it so intense that I am miserable that you are not with me:
- or rather breathe in that dull sort of patience that cannot be called Life.
- I never knew before, what such a love as you have made me feel, was; I did not believe in it;
- my Fancy was afraid of it, lest it should burn me up. But if you will fully love me,
- though there may be some fire, 'twill not be more than we can bear when moistened and bedewed with pleasures.
- You mention "horrid people" and ask me whether it depend upon them whether I see you again.
- Do understand me, my love, in this.
- I have so much of you in my heart that I must turn Mentor when I see a chance of harm befalling you.
- I would never see any thing but pleasure in your eyes, love on your lips, and happiness in your steps.
- I would wish to see you among those amusements suitable to your inclinations and spirits;
- so that our loves might be a delight in the midst of pleasures agreeable enough, rather than a resource from vexations and cares.
- But I doubt much, in case of the worst, whether I shall be philosopher enough to follow my own lessons:
- if I saw my resolution give you a pain I could not. Why may I not speak of your beauty,
- since without that I could never have lov'd you?–I cannot conceive any beginning of such love as I have for you but beauty.
- There may be a sort of love for which, without the least sneer at it,
- I have the highest respect and can admire it in others: but it has not the richness, the bloom, the full form, the enchantment of love after my own heart.
- So let me speak of your beauty.
- You say you are afraid I shall think you do not love me—in saying this you make me ache the more to be near you.
- I am at the diligent use of my faculties here, I do not pass a day without sprawling some blank verse or tagging some rhymes;
- and here I must confess, that, (since I am on that subject) I love you the more in that I believe you have liked me for my own sake
- and for nothing else. I have met with women whom I really think would like to be married to a poem and to be given away by a novel.
- I kiss'd your writing over in the hope you had indulg'd me by leaving a trace of honey. What was your dream?
- Tell it me and I will tell you the interpretation thereof.
- Do not accuse me of delay—we have not here any opportunity of sending letters every day. Please write speedily.
- Ever yours, my love!
- John Keats
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