Letter from Edward Thomas to his wife, Helen Thomas. Archival reference: 424/1/1/1/1/87
Lincoln College, Oxford
8.ii.98

My dearest friend,

I have scarcely recovered from breakfast when I take dinner, from which I scarcely recover until morning. That is the history of most days now. The only thing which makes me pretty nearly the thing I ought to be - is company, the company of those I like; and of this I have had more than usual, these last few days. I have seen a good deal of Haynes. I was in his rooms most of Sunday morning, tho that was not so enjoyable to him as to me. I expect because I was very dull, perhaps

Is lust in action? Still his fun at the expense of his
morality concerns not his own experience, but the
imaginary and exaggerated experience of others.
He lies with women as he smokes cigars or reads a poem. But enough of this! It is a great desire of his to marry, & he seems already to want to love one girl, if he does not
actually love her. . . . In the evening he took me to a
Balliol Concert, which was excellent - I did not get to bed
till nearly 12, - for shame! On Monday I was with him for an hour after Hall, & we discussed his prize poem
"Arcadia". We found we both felt much the same
I telling you this, so that you shall be in no doubt as to what I do. Among other things, he told me a filthy story, which I might find useful when talk flagged at at our long
breakfasts: - I expect you can imagine the kind of story. He also rather surprised me by mentioning that he had once suffered from a painful disease which can be caught from whores; yet I knew before that he considered it nothing remarkable that he went with women; he mentioned it casually without any emotion & said he always read after it that sonnet of Shakespeare's beginning "The expense of spirit in a waste of shame

after drinking 4 glasses of port - port, once or twice a week, being a part of the system of training. In the afternoon I luckily met him again in the Parks. & went home to tea with him; I think we talked mainly about poetry; also about music, which he loves. in much the same way as myself, & with a ready means of satisfaction, for his sister is a clever & passionate player, & plays for him. Unfortunately, but inevitably, - & it is inevitable in most company, except Cornish's & MacAlister's, at Oxford, - we talked not
seriously of immoralities - prostitution of course.

about Shelley's poetry: he values it as highly as I do.

Yesterday evening we spent together at a meeting of the Arnold Society, where a paper on "Frederick II of Sicily" was read, which Haynes opposed; then we went to hear more music, I being his guest, at the Oxford Musical Club. I don't know when we shall meet again.

There's a dozey dryasdust autobiography!

You ask about my wrist. It is nearly well. I have not rowed yet, but hope to tomorrow. I may or may not break down again before the Races. I weigh now in my clothes 11 1/2 stone, which is a very large improvement.

Goodbye now, sweet heart. Think kindly of me. Send me so
much, - so large a picture, - of your own life that I shall light my own. Kiss me happily.
Goodnight. Ever & wholly yours Edward.
Adieu, sweet Helen, my own sweet little one.

Of course I do no valuable reading; it is all mere sleepy
skimming of print: nor writing, except patching up some
notes for the J.C.R. - called "Specimen Days Out of
Doors"; for the Editor promises a proof. Thank you for
returning my copy of the J.C.R.. Always return it as soon
as read.

I've not written to Mrs. Noble; nor heard from Harry,
except a card with his new address at Gypsy Hall; nor from
the "Speaker". Gwili is silent, but his father is just dead,
and I expect his sister will not be over.