These hurry to a sphere
And show and end.
The larger slower grow
And later hang;
The summers of Hesperides
Are long.
Afterwards, came this:—
Amherst.
Dear Friend,—A letter always feels to me like immortality because it is the mind alone without corporeal friend. Indebted in our talk to attitude and accent, there seems a spectral power in thought that walks alone. I would like to thank you for your great kindness, but never try to lift the words which I cannot hold.