济慈诗歌和书信选(英文版)51 To Fanny Brawne, August 1820

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　　My dearest Girl;

　　I wish you could invent some means to make me at all happy without you. Every hour I am more concentrated in you; every thing else tastes like chaff¹ in my Mouth. I feel it almost impossible to go to Italy—the fact is I cannot leave you, and shall never taste one minute’s content until it pleases chance to let me live with you for good. But I will not go on at this rate. A person in health as you are can have no conception of the horrors that nerves and a temper like mine go through. What Island do your friends propose retiring to? I should be happy to go with you there alone, but in company I should object to it; the backbitings and jealousies² of new colonists³ who have nothing else to amuse themselves, is unbearable⁴. Mr. Dilke came to see me yesterday, and gave me a very great deal more pain than pleasure. I shall never be able any more to endure to for the society of any of those who used to meet at Elm Cottage and Wentorth Place. The last two years taste like brass⁵ upon my Palate. If I cannot live with you I will live alone. I do not think my health will improve much while I am separated from you. For all this I am averse⁶ to seeing you—I cannot bear flashes of light and return into my glooms again. I am not so unhappy with you seems such an impossibility! It requires a luckier star than mine! It will never be. I enclose a passage from one of your letters which I want you to alter a little—I want (if you will have it so) the matter expressed less coldly to me. If my health would bear it, I could write a Poem which I have in my head, which would be a consolation⁷ for people in such a situation as mine. I would show some one in Love as I am, with a person living in such Liberty as you do. Shakespeare always sums up matters in the most sovereign manner. Hamlet’s heart was full of such Misery⁸ as mine is when he said to Ophelia “go to a Nunnery, go, go” Indeed I should like to give up the matter at once—I should like to die. I am sickened at the brute⁹ world which you are smiling with. I hate men and women more. I see nothing but thorns for the future—wherever I may be next winter in Italy or nowhere Brown will be living near you with his indecencies—I see no prospect¹⁰ of any rest. Suppose me in Rome—well, I should there see you as in a magic glass going to and from town at all hours, --I wish you could infuse a little confidence in human nature into my heart. I cannot muster¹¹ any—the world is too brutal¹² for me—I am glad there is such a thing as the grave –I am sure I shall never have any rest till I get there At any rate I will indulge myself by never seeing any more Dilke or Brown or any of their Friends. I wish I was either in your arms full of faith or that a Thunder bolt would strike me.

　　God bless you

　　J.K—

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