After all which quarrelling, I am delighted to have to talk of your coming nearer to me--within reach--almost within my reach. Now if I am able to go in a carriage at all this summer, it will be hard but that I manage to get across the park and serenade you in Greek under your window. Your ever affectionate ELIZABETH B. BARRETT. _To H.S. Boyd_ May 18, 1843. My very dear Friend,--Yes, you have surprised me! I always have thought of you, and I always think and say, that you are truthful and candid in a supreme degree, and therefore it is not your candour about Wordsworth which surprises me. He had the kindness to send me the poem upon Grace Darling when it first appeared; and with a curious mixture of feelings (for I was much gratified by his attention in sending it) I yet read it with _so_ much pain from the nature of the subject, that my judgment was scarcely free to consider the poetry--I could scarcely determine to myself what I _thought_ of it from feeling too much. _But_ I do confess to you, my dear friend, that I suspect--through the mist of my sensations--the poem in question to be very inferior to his former poems; I confess that the impression left on my mind is, of its decided inferiority, and I have heard that the poet's friends and critics (all except _one_) are mourning over its appearance; sighing inwardly, 'Wordsworth is old.' One thing is clear to me, however, and over _that_ I rejoice and triumph greatly. If you can esteem this poem of 'Grace Darling,' you must be susceptible to the grandeur and beauty of the poems which preceded it; and the cause of your past reluctance to recognise the poet's power must be, as I have always suspected, from your having given a very partial attention and consideration to his poetry. You were partial in your attention _I_, perhaps, was injudicious in my extracts; but with your truth and his genius, I cannot doubt but that the time will come for your mutual amity. Oh that I could stand as a herald of peace, with my wool-twisted fillet! I do not understand the Greek metres as well as you do, but I understand Wordsworth's genius better, and do you forgive that it should console me. I will ask about his collegian extraction. Such a question never occurred to me. Apollo taught him under the laurels, while all the Muses looked through the boughs. Your ever affectionate ELIZABETH B. BARRETT, Oh, yes, it delights me that you should be nearer. Of course you know that Wordsworth is Laureate.[77] [Footnote 77: Wordsworth was nominated Poet Laureate after the death of Southey in March 1843.] _To John Kenyan_ May 19, 1843, Thank you, my dear cousin, for all your kindness to me. There is ivy enough for a thyrsus, and I almost feel ready to enact a sort of Bacchus triumphalis 'for jollitie,' as I see it already planted, and looking in at me through the window. I never thought to see such a sight as _that_ in my London room, and am overwhelmed with my own glory.