Letter from John Greenleaf Whittier to Lucy Larcom

Amesbury, 25 3mo . 1866 Believe me, Lucy Larcom, it gives me real sorrow That I cannot take my carpet bag, and go to town tomorrow; But I'm "snow bound", and cold in cold, like layers of an onion. Have piled my back, and weighed me down, as with the pack of [Bunga ?] The North east wind is damper, and the North west wind is colder, Or, else the matter simply is that I am growing older. And then I dare not trust a moon seen over one's left shoulder, As I saw this with slender horns Caught in a west hill pine, As on a Stanbul minaret curves the arch imposter's sign. So I must stay in Amesburg, and let you go your way, And guess what colors greet your eye What shapes your steps delay. What pictured forms of heathen love of gods and goddess please you.

What idol graven images you bend your wicked knees to. But why should I of evil dream Will knowing at your head goes. That flower of Christian womanhood, our dear good Anna Meadows, She'll be discreet, I'm sure, although once in a fit romantic She flung the Doge's bridal ring, and married the Atlantic, And, spite of all appearances, like the woman in a shoe, She's got so many young folks now She dont know what to do. But I must say I think it strange that thee and Mrs. Spalding Whose lives with Calvin's five-railed creed have been so tightly walled in Should quit your Puritanic homes and take the pains to go So far, with malice aforethought, to walk in a vain show. Did Emmons hunt for pictures? Was Jonathan Edwards peeping Into the chambers of imagery with maids for [Tanimus ?] weeping? v ese 8:14

Ah well! the times are sadly changed, and I myself am feeling The wicked world my Quaker coat from off my shoulders peeling. God grant that in the strange new sea of change wherein we swim We still may keep the good old plank of simple faith in Him! P.S. My housekeepers got the "hssick" and gone away, and Lizzie is at home for the vacation with Florence and trimmings busy. The snow lies white about us. The birds again are dumb. The lying blue-frocked rascals that told us spring had come. But in the words of Folly will the sweet May flowers are making All ready for the moment of Nature's glad awaking. Come when they come; their welcome Share; except when at the city For months I've scarce seen womankind, save when in sheerest pity, Gail Hamilton came up beside my lonely hearth to sit,

And make the Winter evening glad with wisdom and with wit, And fancy feeling but the spur, and not the curbing bit; Lending a womanly charm to what before was bachelor in duress, The Lord reward her for an act of disinterested goodness! And now, with love to Mrs. F. and Mrs [S. ?] God bless her! And hoping that my foolish rhyme may not be a transgresson And wishing, for your sake and mine it wiser were, and wittier, I leave it, and subscribe myself Thy old friend. John G. Whittier