rous man. Do you not think so?
Well--long and long ago, he asked me to write a drama with him on the
Greek model; that is, for me to write the choruses, and for him to do
the dialogue. Just then it was quite doubtful in my own mind, and
worse than doubtful, whether I ever should write again; and the very
doubtfulness made me speak my 'yes' more readily. Then I was desired
to make a subject, ... to conceive a plan; and my plan was of a man,
haunted by his own soul, ... (making her a separate personal Psyche, a
dreadful, beautiful Psyche)--the man being haunted and terrified
through all the turns of life by her. Did you ever feel afraid of your
own soul, as I have done? I think it is a true wonder of our
humanity--and fit subject enough for a wild lyrical drama. I should
like to write it by myself at least, well enough. But with him I will
not now. It was delayed ... delayed. He cut the plan up into scenes
... I mean into a list of scenes ... a sort of ground-map to work
on--and there it lies. Nothing more was done. It all lies in one
sheet--and I have offered to give up my copyright of idea in it--if he
likes to use it alone--or I should not object to work it out alone on
my own side, since it comes from me: only I will not consent now to a
_double work_ in it. There are objections--none, be it well
understood, in Mr. Horne's disfavour,--for I think of him as well at
this moment, and the same in all essential points, as I ever did. He
is a man of fine imagination, and is besides good and generous. In the
course of our acquaintance (on paper--for I never saw him) I never was
angry with him except once; and then, _I_ was quite wrong and had to
confess it. But this is being too 'mediaeval.' Only you will see from
it that I am a little entangled on the subject of compound works, and
must look where I tread ... and you will understand (if you ever hear
from Mr. Kenyon or elsewhere that I am going to write a compound-poem
with Mr. Horne) how it _was_ true, and isn't true any more.

Yes--you are going to Mr. Kenyon's on the 12th--and yes--my brother
and sister are going to meet you and your sister there one day to
dinner. Shall I have courage to see you soon, I wonder! If you ask me,
I must ask myself. But oh, this make-believe May--it can't be May
after all! If a south-west wind sate in your chestnut tree, it was but
for a few hours--the east wind 'came up this way' by the earliest
opportunity of succession. As the old 'myster