"Why did you bring me here?" he said again. "Because I grew lonely," said the poet
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@dearboypete
"Why did you bring me here?" he said again. "Because I grew lonely," said the poet
Letter to Pete
Pete, I could now send you a bouquet every morning far better than I used to — of much choicer flowers. And how well are you getting along, dearest comrade? I hope you are well and that everything is going on right with you.
― Walt Whitman Thursday 17th October Providence R. I.
who's going to be the Susan Huntington Dickinson to my Emily Dickinson? i will be the poet and you shall be the poem. ♥️
or we could be Walt Whitman and Peter Doyle and our meeting is sparked by a tender touch and the night sky becomes an old friend from years of moonlit walks. and we will be so familiar with each others bodies and souls that the words shared whenever apart are as warm, strong and reassuring as the feeling of the others hand and full embrace. you would be the one who inspires my poetry and together we’ll share and celebrate the bravery of choosing love again and again. like Walt I would often buy you flowers for the simple joy it brings and because I too have so many ways of expressing my love and appreciation. my admiration would shape my writing and perhaps my most recognised work can only be written by loving you and the impression you’ve left on my heart. and at the Close of the Day I’d finish things with ‘Remain Yours Forever’ and no matter how many times I included it in letters, texts, calls or poems it would still carry the sensation of saying it to you for the very first time.♥️
who's going to be the Susan Huntington Dickinson to my Emily Dickinson? i will be the poet and you shall be the poem. ♥️
The Way That Lovers Use
The way that lovers use is this; They bow, catch hands, with never a word, And their lips meet, and they do kiss, — So I have heard.
They queerly find some healing so, And strange attainment in the touch; There is a secret lovers know, — I have read as much.
And theirs no longer joy nor smart, Changing or ending, night or day; But mouth to mouth, and heart on heart, — So lovers say.
― Rupert Brooke (1887―1915)
Success
I think if you had loved me when I wanted; If I'd looked up one day, and seen your eyes, And found my wild sick blasphemous prayer granted, And your brown face, that's full of pity and wise, Flushed suddenly; the white godhead in new fear Intolerably so struggling, and so shamed; Most holy and far, if you'd come all too near, If earth had seen Earth's lordliest wild limbs tamed, Shaken, and trapped, and shivering, for my touch ― Myself should I have slain? or that foul you? But this the strange gods, who had given so much, To have seen and known you, this they might not do. One last shame's spared me, one black word's unspoken; And I'm alone; and you have not awoken.
― Rupert Brooke (1887―1915)
Letter to Sue
"And thank you for my dear letter, which came on Saturday night, when all the world was still; thank you for the love it bore me, and for it’s golden thoughts, and feelings so like gems, that I was sure I gathered them in whole baskets of pearls!"
― Emily Dickinson Sunday morning about February 1852
Letter to Sue
"Thank the dear little snow flakes, because they fall today rather than some vain weekday, when the world and the cares of the world would try so hard to keep me from my departed friend — and thank you, too, dear Susie, that you never weary of me, or never tell me so, and that when the world is cold, and the storm sighs e’er so piteously, I am sure of one sweet shelter, one covert from the storm!"
― Emily Dickinson Sunday morning about February 1852
Letter to Pete
I send you my love and so long for the present. Yours for life, dear Pete (and death the same).
― Walt Whitman Wednesday 9th October New York
Letter to Pete
Dear Pete, with all my kind friends here and invitations, etc., though I love them all and gratefully reciprocate their kindness, I finally turn to you and think of you there. Well, I guess I have written enough for this time. Dear Pete, I will now bid you good-bye for the present. Take care of yourself and God bless you, my loving comrade. I will write again soon.
― Walt Whitman Wednesday 2nd October New York
Letter to Pete
Dear Boy and Comrade. You say it is a pleasure to get my letters — well boy, it is a real pleasure to me to write to you.
― Walt Whitman Wednesday 2nd October New York
Kvernufoss, Iceland
A 1913 love letter that unfolds into a little art gallery.
Caricaturist Alfred Frueh (1880-1968) sent his fiancee Giuliette this letter, so that she could train for the "Gallery Marathon" she would experience when she arrived in Paris. It came complete with original works of art and a coat check.
Brooch
c. 1880-1900
unknown maker
Victoria and Albert Museum
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