I had not ventured to hope for such a reply; so considerate
in its tone, so noble in its spirit. I must suppress what I feel, or
you will think me foolishly enthusiastic.
"At the first perusal of your letter, I felt only shame and regret
that I had ever ventured to trouble you with my crude rhapsody; I felt
a painful heat rise to my face when I thought of the quires of paper I
had covered with what once gave me so much delight, but which now was
only a source of confusion; but after I had thought a little and read
it again and again, the prospect seemed to clear. You do not forbid
me to write; you do not say that what I write is utterly destitute of
merit. You only warn me against the folly of neglecting real duties
for the sake of imaginative pleasures; of writing for the love of
fame; for the selfish excitement of emulation. You kindly allow me to
write poetry for its own sake, provided I leave undone nothing which I
ought to do, in order to pursue that single, absorbing, exquisite
gratification. I am afraid, sir, you think me very foolish. I know
the first letter I wrote to you was all senseless trash from beginning
to end; but I am not altogether the idle dreaming being it would seem
to denote. My father is a clergyman of limited, though competent
income, and I am the eldest of his children.
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