A smoke that delicately curled to heaven,
Mingling its blueness with the infinite blue,
So to the air the faded form was given,
So unto fame the gentle spirit grew.
And as Shelley and Keats are associated always together in my mind, immediately the Muse gave me this:
KEATS
A youth did plight his troth to Poesy.
"Thee only," were the fervent words he said,
Then sadly sailed across the foaming sea,
And lay beneath the southern sunset dead.
I was glad that once I could express what I think about those men. These will show you, but you must write your own poem upon them before you will be satisfied. Is it not so always? We cannot speak much about poets until our thought of them sings itself.
The day I left you was very hot in Boston. Anna Shaw and Rose Russell passed me like beautiful spirits; one like a fresh morning, the other like an Oriental night. Then I did my business, and met James Sturgis, who carried me to see his head cut in cameo by Mr. King. It is quite good, though it gives him rather a finer head than he has; but that's a good failing. I went to the Athenaeum. There I saw one or two pictures, and much paint upon canvas. Those that I liked I saw belonged to the Athenaeum, and I suppose were old objects to those who are familiar with the gallery. A face of Ophelia interested me. It was very simple and sweet. But I was so warm that I could do little more than lay upon a bench and catch dreamy glimpses of the walls. The sculpture gallery, full of white marble heads, seemed quite cool.
My dear Friend, I shall melt and be mailed in this letter as a spot if I do not surcease. May you be blest with frigidity, a blessing far removed from my hope. Of course I must be warmly, nay, hotly remembered to Charles.
Yrs ever,