Unwritten

"Ah you still ask me for that unwritten letter always due, it seems, always unwritten, from year to year, by me to you, dear Lidian, -- I fear too more widely than you mean, -- always due & unwritten by me to every sister & brother of the human race. I have only to say that I also bemoan myself daily for the same cause – that I cannot write this letter, that I have not stamina & constitution enough to mind the two functions of seraph and cherub, oh no, let me not use such great words, -- rather say that a photometer cannot be a stove. It must content you for the time, that I truly acknowledge a poverty of nature, & have really no proud defence at all to set up, but ill-health, puniness, and Stygian limitation. Is not the wife too always the complement of the man’s imperfections, and mainly of those half men the clerks? Besides am I not , O best Lidian, a most foolish affectionate goodman & papa, with a weak side toward apples & sugar and all domesticities, when I am once in Concord? Answer me that. Well I will come again shortly and behave the best I can Only I foresee plainly that the trick of solitariness never never can leave me."

From a letter by Ralph Waldo Emerson to his wife Lidian, written during his 1848 visit to Great Britain

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