[27 January 1845]. Browning, Robert to Browning, Elizabeth Barrett.

              New Cross, Hatcham.

Monday Night

Dear Miss Barrett,

Your books lie on my table here, at arm’s length from me, in this old room where I sit all day: and when my head aches or wanders or strikes work, as it now and then will, I take my chance for either green covered volume,-as if it were so much fresh trefoil to feel in one’s hands this winter-time,-and round I turn, and, putting a decisive elbow on three or four half-done-with “Bells” of mine, read, read, read-and just as I have shut up the book and walked to the window, I recollect that you wanted me to find faults there, and that, in unwise hour, I engaged to do so. Meantime, the days go by (the whitethroat is come and sings now) and as I would not have you “look down on me from your white heights” as promise-breaker, evader, or forgetter, if I could help .. and as, if I am very candid & contrite[,] you may find it in your heart to write to me again .. who knows? .. so