September 14, 1819
My dear girl,
are going on in town following a letter My brother George, the news is not among the brightest. Am I crazy? I arrived with the care of Friday night and have not been to Hampstead. I swear that's not my fault. Not decide to mix the pleasure these days that pass me like another one, without distinction. If I had to see you today, destroying the gloom that currently I was almost a pleasure, turning it into perplexity. I love you too to venture to Hampstead, I feel that it is not a visit, but venturing into the fire. Que ferai-ja? Say as a joke the French novelists, and I seriously: really, what can I do? Knowing that my life will spend between grief and pain I have tried to break away from you: what can I care as long as they are only unhappiness? Unique to me until I despise all the events, but I can not stop loving you. This morning, I know hardly what I'm doing. Soon I will go to Walthamstow. Tomorrow I will return to Winchester, thence you my news in a few days. I am a coward, I can not stand the pain of being happy; this is out of the question, I no longer think about it.
your ever affectionate
John Keats.
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