Friday, March 27, 2009

A Letter

I have not yet got your Prometheus, which I long to see. I have heard nothing of mine, and do not know that it is yet published. I have published a pamphlet on the Pope controversy, which you will not like. Had I know that Keats was dead--or that he was alive and so sensitive--I should have omitted some remarks upon his poetry, to which I was provoked by his attack upon Pope, and my disapprobation of his own style of writing.

You want me to undertake a great Poem--I have not the inclination nor the power. As I grow older, the indifference--not to life, for we love it by instinct--but to the stimuli of life, increases. Besides, this late failure of the Italians has latterly disappointed me for many reasons,--some public, some personal. My respects to Mrs. [omitted].
Yours ever,
P.S.--Could not you and I contrive to meet this summer? Could not you take a run alone?


  1. Let's see, Keats is dead, Shelly is married, so could this be Byron?

    If so, then the "run alone" makes be wonder if Mary Shelly was the Frankenstein of their circle, despite the genteel paying of respect to the Mrs.