[A note, left beside the door to his room, atop a small box. Upon opening the letter, between the folds are pressed, pink roses. It reads as follows:]
Cher Reynaud,
It has taken seeing Feuilly's face, exactly as I last recall it, to remind me that we are not so young as we once were. How many years might have passed here, in this equipoise of time and being? One, or perhaps two...?
You must thank Mademoiselle Seraphim, if anyone at all, for she is much more accomplished than I in wisdom of the kitchen, and without her great help, I cannot have made this small gift to you. (For we saw how I fared with bread! Let us not mention it again.)
Accept it as a token of my affections, in gratefulness that these have not been years spent alone, but in the glow of your great warmth. It is in celebration of a life that has mattered so much, not only to me, but to all whom it has come in contact with. With cheer, sensitivity, and a generous heart the likes of which I have known in no other fellow-creature. (May it also, though poor in substitute, be a reminder of home- what I am sure your sister would have seen done for you.)
Mine carries love within those eyes; All that she looks on is made pleasanter; Upon her path men turn to gaze at her; He whom she greeteth feels his heart to rise, And droops is troubled visage, full of sighs, And of his evil heart is then aware: Hates loves, and pride becomes his worshipper. O women, help to praise her in somewise. Humbleness, and the hope that hopeth well, By speech of hers into the mind are brought, And who beholds is blessed oftenwhiles. The look she hath when she a little smiles Cannot be said, nor holden in the thought; 'Tis such a new and gracious miracle. -Dante
(It is a fitting poem in sentiment, at least, if somewhat off the mark in pronoun.)
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2014-08-12 10:43 pm (UTC)[A note, left beside the door to his room, atop a small box. Upon opening the letter, between the folds are pressed, pink roses. It reads as follows:]
Cher Reynaud,
It has taken seeing Feuilly's face, exactly as I last recall it, to remind me that we are not so young as we once were. How many years might have passed here, in this equipoise of time and being? One, or perhaps two...?
You must thank Mademoiselle Seraphim, if anyone at all, for she is much more accomplished than I in wisdom of the kitchen, and without her great help, I cannot have made this small gift to you. (For we saw how I fared with bread! Let us not mention it again.)
Accept it as a token of my affections, in gratefulness that these have not been years spent alone, but in the glow of your great warmth. It is in celebration of a life that has mattered so much, not only to me, but to all whom it has come in contact with. With cheer, sensitivity, and a generous heart the likes of which I have known in no other fellow-creature. (May it also, though poor in substitute, be a reminder of home- what I am sure your sister would have seen done for you.)
Mine carries love within those eyes;
All that she looks on is made pleasanter;
Upon her path men turn to gaze at her;
He whom she greeteth feels his heart to rise,
And droops is troubled visage, full of sighs,
And of his evil heart is then aware:
Hates loves, and pride becomes his worshipper.
O women, help to praise her in somewise.
Humbleness, and the hope that hopeth well,
By speech of hers into the mind are brought,
And who beholds is blessed oftenwhiles.
The look she hath when she a little smiles
Cannot be said, nor holden in the thought;
'Tis such a new and gracious miracle.
-Dante
(It is a fitting poem in sentiment, at least, if somewhat off the mark in pronoun.)
Happy Birthday(s). Belatedly.
Affectueuses pensées,
-Jehan
[Inside the box the note sits upon, find one small, rosewater cake.]