罗伯特?勃朗宁致伊丽莎白?芭蕾特（2）

    since the day last h to remember ho and turning again in my mind ht i thought i et out of my habit of purely passive enjoyment, hly justify my admiration— perhaps even, as a loyal felloood to be proud of hereafter!—but nothing comes of it all—so into me has it gone, and part of me has it become, this great living poetry of yours, not a flore to be dried and pressed flat, and prized highly, and put in a book ive up the thought of doing that, too, in time, because even no ive a reason for my faith in one and another excellence, the fresh strange music, the affluent language, the exquisite pathos and true neht; but in this addressing myself to you—your o rises altogether.

    i do, as i say, love these books —really seeing you? mr. kenyon said to me one morning “o, and i feel as at some untoe in my travels, as if i had been close, so close, to some ht have entered, but there ht, so it noht and just sufficient bar to admission, and the half?opened door shut, and i ht</p>

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