J. KEATS.
XVIII.
My dearest Girl,
You spoke of having been unwell in your last note: have you recover’d? That note has been a great delight to me. I am stronger than I was: the Doctors say there is very little the matter with me, but I cannot believe them till the weight and tightness of my Chest is mitigated. I will not indulge or pain myself by complaining of my long separation from you. God alone knows whether I am destined to taste of happiness with you: at all events I myself know thus much, that I consider it no mean Happiness to have lov’d you thus far—if it is to be no further I shall not be unthankful—if I am to recover, the day of my recovery shall see me by your side from which nothing shall separate me. If well you are the only medicine that can keep me so. Perhaps, aye surely, I am writing in too depress’d a state of mind—ask your Mother to come and see me—she will bring you a better account than mine.
Ever your affectionate
JOHN KEATS.
XIX.
My dearest Girl,