Yes, dear Mr. Bai Langning, but in my mind, spring is different. It’s not like you. Other poets have always imagined spring. It’s pitiful. For me, snowflakes are not much different from snowflakes. I also feel cold when I step on my feet. The sound of turtledoves doesn’t make me feel relaxed. It’s still so tight. April is like playing a comeback, and people rest in May. At least it’s early May, it’s like sneaking into a military camp. This is my view of spring. I have to move a little later before I really come. After such a harsh season, I finally escaped my life. I might as well thank God that spring has finally arrived. How happy you are. You can listen to the birds singing with all your heart, but you can’t go to the east wind and worry about who will disturb you and appreciate your mood. I read your kind and sincere letter and how happy I am to hear your heart.
Do you really always get what you want? Once you do, you won’t feel that it’s not to your taste, but hope that it will backfire. Life is comforting when you hear people say something unsatisfactory, and I almost believe it, but the brightest scene in the room is leaning against the window and looking out at the space. I think so
Of course you do. Otherwise, how can you be a poet? Tell me.
Always loyal to you
EBB
The sixth cover is Saturday night 184531
Dear Miss Balet, I seem to suddenly realize that I have long realized that you have widened the harp range of my life by degrees and added another tragic chord to me, haven’t you? Besides, you fingered it. This morning, I read your letter and finally escaped my life, and so on. I have such a feeling that if my most sincere wish can always be realized as in the past, you will smile at the tight and steep east wind, just like me. Are you white now? Sad.
You are already my good friend, aren’t you? Then don’t lean against the window and look out. Wait a moment when I have just stepped over the stairs.
Belong to you forever
RB
Several letters from poetess
March.
Bai Langning wrote in a long letter postmarked on March 1, 1845, can you give me a big face? When you write, of course, you must talk about your poems, which are not Greek poetry dramas, and you often publish one or two small notices saying that I have a good living or excellent health. Will you agree?
The letter also said that writing didn’t give me pleasure, and I felt happy that it was finished. I think you wrote it, didn’t you?
Dear Mr. Bai Langning
You can believe that whenever I don’t write to you immediately, I’m not enjoying my happiness, but suffering. It’s kind of you to ask me about my recent situation, but it’s not that I’m not up to no good. It’s really hard for me these days. To put it this way, I don’t feel very comfortable in my heart. It seems that the east wind blows from the sun and the moon. Who wants to have a good day? But as far as I’m concerned, I have nothing to complain about. I’m not worse than usual. Where to go? I’m just a little weaker than before. I’m hiding in a corner to warm up my motto, but all this will come in April, and then May and June will come, so that we can live. When we see this day, we can always look forward to it. Speaking of meeting you again, I think you can’t trust me. Perhaps it’s because you have seen through my illness and guessed how I will shrink and be discouraged when I come to meet a face I’m not familiar with. Do you think so? Human nature, you will know what it will be like to live in seclusion like me, although I have a set of high opinions on social responsibility and so on. Well, you didn’t lead me to say it, but I can say for sure that I really want to meet you. When the weather warms up and the earth recovers, I will be a little bit alive to realize this joy. Maybe if you and I don’t like to meet you, you are wrong. Although you are a questioner, I may be a little afraid of you. Although I don’t write this now, you are Paracissus. I am a recluse in pain. Reagan’s roots
I can’t help comparing your life with mine before and after hearing your insights. You hold up a glass full of life wine and the sun shines on the mouth of the cup. I live in a mental world, or sorrow with sorrow is my strong mental activity, that is, I have been isolated from the world before I got sick and lived in seclusion. Young girls are always more knowledgeable than me, and I am hardly a young girl now. I grew up in my hometown and have no chance. My experience is confined to the realm of fantasy. My heart always hangs like an uncut honeysuckle vine, but I can’t say that this is a lonely life like moss in this respect. I live in a dream, and my family’s daily life seems to float past my ears, like a swarm of bees flying in the flat, like water. Later, I got sick. I seemed to be on the edge of the world for a while, but it seems that I can’t cross the door again. Later, I survived the biggest step I was born. I was so sad that I thought bitterly that I had always been blindfolded to this man who was leaving the temple and I didn’t know how to enrich human nature. My brothers and sisters are just a name to me. I have never seen anything. I am like a dying man who hasn’t read a line. It’s too late for Shakespeare to read it. Do you understand what I mean? Can you see how this humble knowledge is fatal to my poetry, isn’t it? If I live like this but never jump into this isolated life, can’t you feel what an extremely unfavorable environment I am in?I live with a full heart, and since I have developed a sense of analysis, I often have great speculations about general human nature, but as a poet, how willing I am to exchange this cumbersome and pedantic knowledge for real life experience.
Do you write? Of course, of course. When I write, I seem to live. For me, writing is life. What do you mean by living? You are not eating, drinking and breathing, but you are feeling life enthusiastically and happily in every fiber. So people really live in them. Aren’t you the same? It must be like this.
You will always be loyal.
EBB
April 18th
I don’t want to simply treat information as information. No one will do this, but life always needs to enrich experience and experience in many ways. I deeply believe that if a poet is cut off from all kinds of external life, how miserable and unfavorable it will be for him. Take yourself as an example. Can you read all your achievements and say that you didn’t benefit directly from this world? I know, but you must have benefited from the reaction, no matter what factors have affected you. It melts a part of your life, no matter what you love or hate, it pleases you, it makes you despise you, and it melts a part of your life. Have you ever read improvisation, or are you happy to read it? That one feels the same way as I do, and it is a poet’s soul, which is full of beauty and has great artistic charm for me.
Forever is you
Elizabeth Balet.
Friday night mail cut 184554
This is a poetess’s reply to Bai Langning’s proposal. Please refer to a letter that was returned.
I wanted to write to you last night and this morning, but I couldn’t write. You don’t know how much pain your indiscretion has brought me. I disobeyed you. I said that your indiscretion was not my intention to offend you, my dear friend, but it was my desire to have something to recommend me in front of the emperor in my own mind, or that it was not enough for you to flatter me like this, but I couldn’t help but shrink back. It was natural to glance at it and leave no room for thinking. I was silent about this matter. That was everything. Listen to me, you said something careless and fanciful, which is that you will never say it again or change your mind to deny it, but you will forget it forever when you say it, and these words will disappear between you and me, just like you and the compositor planted it by mistake. I am your friend, and you will never be more loyal. I will forget this matter. This is a necessary condition for us to go from the ground to the ground. If we reply in a word or this time. Then I can’t help it. I don’t want to meet you. In the future, if you ask you a question, you will say in your heart that I did the right thing for you. Don’t do this again for my sake. I don’t think you will relieve my distress like this. When our friendship presents a beautiful situation and gives me some comfort, I have to cut it off, and I am so much more sad than happy.
No matter how long or short your friendship and sympathy is, I will cherish it all my life. You have misjudged me. I can’t misjudge myself. You flatter me too much. I am politely declining with tears of gratitude in my eyes.
You won’t be angry with me, will you? No, it’s a hail with flashes. You know I’m not a stone. Even if I say nothing like a stone, I’ll have pity on you. I have no choice but to pray to the emperor to bless you. You won’t feel a little annoyed by my generosity.
You are grateful to your friends.
EBB
The second proposal was postmarked on August 3, 1845.
7 th of reply month
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