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letra de letter to john l graves, late april 1856 - julie harris

it is sunday – now- john – and all have gone to church – the wagons have done passing, and i have come out in the new grass to listen to the anthems

three or four hens have followed me, and we sit side by side – and while they crow and whisper, i’ll tell you what i see today, and what i would that you saw –

you remember the crumbling wall that divides us from mr sweetser – and the crumbling elms and the evergreens – and other crumbling things – that spring, and fade, and cast their bloom within a simple twelvemonth – well – they arе here, and skies on mе fairer far than italy, in blue eye look down – up – see! – away – a league from here, on the way to heaven! and here are robins – just got home – and giddy crows – and jays – and will you trust me – as i live, here’s a bumblebees – not such as summer brings – john – earnest, manly bees, but a kind of a c-ckney, dressed in jaunty clothes. much is that gay – have i to show, if you were with me, john, upon this april grass – then there are sadder features – here and there, wings half gone to dust, that fluttered so, last year – a mouldering plume, an empty house, in which a bird resided. where last year’s flies, their errand ran, and last year’s crickets fell! we, too, are flying – fading, john – and the song “here lies,” soon upon lips that love us now – will have hummed and ended

to live, and die, and mount again in triumphant body, and next time, try the upper air – is no schoolboy’s theme!

it is a holly thought to think that we can be eternal – when air and earth are full of lives that are gone – and done – and a conceited thing indeed, this promised resurrection! congratulate me – john – lad – and “here’s a health to you” – that we have each a pair of lives, and need not chary be, of the one “that now is” –

thank you for your letter, john – glad i was, to get it – and gladder had i got them both, and glad indeed to see – if in your heart another lies, bound one day to me – mid your momentous cares, plasant to know that “lang syne” has it’s own place – that nook and cranny still retain their accustomed guest. and when busier cares, and dustier days, and cobwebs, less unfrequent – shut what was away, still, as a ballad hummed, and lost, remember early friend, and drop a tear, if a troubador that strain may chance to sing

i am glad you have a school to teach – and happy that it is pleasant – amused at the clerical civility – of your new friends – and shall feel – i know, delight and pride, always, when you succeed. i play the old, odd tunes yet, which used to flit about your head after honest hours – and wake dear sue, and madden me, with their grief and fun – how far from us, that spring seems – and those triumphant days – our april got to heaven first – grant we may meet her there – at the “right hand of the father.” remember, tho’ you rove – john – and those who do not ramble will remember you. susie’s, and mattie’s compliments, and vinnie’s just here, and write again if you will –

- julie harris

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