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Master Letter 1
Spring 1858















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Dear Master
              I am ill-
but grieving more
that you are ill, I
make my stronger hand
work long eno' to tell
you- I thought perhaps
you were in Heaven,
and when you spoke
again, it seemed
quite sweet, and
wonderful, and surprised
me so- I wish that
you were well.
I would that all I













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love , should be week no
more. The Violets are
by my side- the Robin
very near- and "Spring"-
hey say, Who is she-
going by the door-
Indeed it is God's house-
and these are gates
of Heaven, and to
and fro, the angels
go, with their sweet
postillions- I wish that
I were great, like Mr-
Michael Angelo, and
could paint for you.
You ask me what
my Flowers said-
then they were
disobedient- I gave
them messages-








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They said what the
lips in the West, say,
when the sun goes
down, and so says
the Dawn-
Listen again, Master-
I did not tell you that
today had been the
Sabbath Day.
Each Sabbath on the
sea, makes me count
the Sabbaths, till we
meet on shore- and <will the>
whether the hills will
look as blue as the
sailors say-
I cannot talk <stay>
any more <longer>
tonight <now>,
for this pain
denies me-
How strong when week
to recollect, and easy
quite, to love. Will you









tell me, please to tell
me, soon as you are
well-


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  paragraph break, based on space and content,
  determined by R.W.Franklin. 


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