_Brook Farm_, October 21st, 1841--Noon
Ownest beloved, I know thou dost not care in the least about receiving
a word from thy husband--thou lovest me not--in fact thou hast quite
forgotten that such a person exists. I do love thee so much, that I
really think that all the love is on my side;--there is no room for
any more in the whole universe.
Sweetest, I have nothing at all to say to thee--nothing, I mean, that
regards this external world; and as to matters of the heart and soul,
they are not to be written about. What atrocious weather! In all this
month, we have not had a single truly October day; it has been a real
November month, and of the most disagreeable kind. I came to this
place in one snowstorm, and shall probably leave it in another; so
that my reminiscences of Brook Farm are like to be the coldest and
dreariest imaginable. But next month, thou, belovedest, will be my
sunshine and my summer. No matter what weather it may be then.
Dearest, good bye. Dost thou love me after all? Art thou magnificently
well? God bless thee. Thou didst make me infinitely happiest, at our
last meeting. Was it a pleasant season likewise to thee?
Thine ownest,