My dearest Lady,
I am now at pheasant Cottage window, looking onto a beautiful hilly country, with a glimpse of the sea; the morning is very fine. I do not know how elastic my spirit might be, what pleasure I might have in living here if the remembrance of you did not weigh so upon me. Ask yourself my love whether you are not very cruel to have so enamelled me, so destroyed my freedom. For myself I know not how to express my devotion to so fair a form. I want a brighter word then bright, a fairer word then fair, I almost wish we were butterflies and liv’d but three summer days, three such days I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain. Will you confess this in the Letter you must write immediately, and do all you can to console me in it, make it rich as a draught of poppies to intoxicate me, write me the softest words and kiss them that I may at least touch my lips where you have been.
Antonio Marras'ın esin kaynağının John Keats olmasına şaşırdık mı? Hayır! Keats'in, Fanny Brown'a olan aşkını kelimelere döktüğü mektubunu sevdik mi? Evet.