AT midsummer or soon after (I will let you know the
previous day), I will take a day with you in the purlieus of my old haunts. No
offence has been taken, any more than meant. My
1829 | LONDON’S LOST FRIENDLINESS | 813 |
Your faithful but queer
How you frighted me! Never write again, “Coleridge is dead,” at the end of a line, and tamely come in with “to his friends” at the beginning of another. Love is quicker, and fear from love, than the transition ocular from Line to Line.