Letter from Edward Thomas to his wife, Helen Thomas. Archival reference: 424/1/1/1/1/69
17 Woodville Street
Friday 26.viii 98
My dearest Friend
I a writing in Gwili's house - the
first chance since your joyful letter this
morning. But I don't know what I
can write here, for Gwili is away, and I
have two of his sisters to play with
the youngest 18, the eldest 23 and
the oldest I should rather like to
like.
Saturday
I have your letter - by the early post
this morning; and I have been regretting you
did not receive mine on Friday morning as you should have done; then you would not have talked of neglect
in a (illegible) where it was impossible for me to write between
Tuesday morning and Thursday morning.
As you see I began another letter
yesterday at Gwili's, but wrote no more than
a few lines. I was just saying I liked Gwili's
oldest sister, partly, I think, from a resemblance
to you, in nature and (somewhat) in looks.
I thought she was 18; she is 23; so childish she is.

How grumpy I am! it is always the effect of a
bad conscience.
Upon my word I won't write any more,
but will perhaps send a word tomorrow; , only I
must thank you for the pound, which, all the
same, is very little, don't you think? considering
you spent all of last month's. With my
own money I have now 35/-, decidedly less
than half of my bill; and there is not much more
than a month left to save; only what I have
too I shall be bound to buy one or two such
things as -Visiting cards; the crest of my
college, school ( ) Shall I ever go? Father
has just requested me to write to O.M. Edwards
of Lincoln for information about the cost, which
gives him "alarm", he says now.
Now let me go - I will tell you for what.
First I must post this at 11.30 a.m.; then I
want to read over again and again your letters
of yesterday and today. Talk of pictures! What a
picture your flowing pen gives me! I
see you in how many different places; on
Still she is rather insipid, has no spirit and little humour or sense:
though like her sisters she has a sweet little voice and is not
ashamed to use it in the lovely Welsh air, of which there is no
end. After eating cockles and tea with Gwili at 7.15 I
enjoyed nearly 100 hours of Welsh singing, in which it is true I could seldom join, except when a line of "tra-la-la"
followed a line of Welsh in the same tune, as it often did for a dozen verses (4 lines) on end ;or when Gwili played one of
my two favourite songs by Watcyn Wyn's. The singing was
continuous without conversation in between - I enjoyed it,
but probably unwisely ; for while I listen to any engrossing
music my soul as it were ?disembodied , the music
taking its place. As I walked home at ten o'clock I was
criticizing my evening's occupations ; on the whole I should
say they were wrong ; they neither improved me , nor
pleased me in a lively manner; it was an indulgence,
like sleep; the intellect was out of use, neglected, even
the senses

heather under the sky, - among the fir trees, - in the deep bracken, - and then in the only place where you may be so, in your bedroom, I see you naked with your hair about you; ah! then, how much of the child you are, and also how little! how much are you a pure and yet voluptuous woman thirsting for what you have not tasted and cannot taste, rejoicing in dreams the most sensuous, often, lifting the forbidden goblet to the very rubies of your lips. Helen! Helen! if your joys were not so simple I should fear that we two might together become the most voluptuous on Earth. As it is you are the purest, the least selfish and jealous, the most content, with all your passion, that I can imagine. Only when I am [?} and lustful do I think of you as voluptuous, and then only because you become as I am; when I am calm, so are you. But let me quit this calculating, this reasoning. I love you, I desire you, in your presence I think you neither of good nor bad, but of becoming
one with you, of satisfying you and myself
of me. I feel sometimes that our restraint is
due to virtue and maidenliness on your part,
but only to feebleness and want of masculine
vigour and lust on mine. Why do I say this?
only to praise you, my own sweet little one.
I will go now. Kiss me like a sister now,
sweetheart; Have you the more trust that you
are able to be mother or sister, and child to me
according to my need; friend and
mistress too, and more than all. No, now
I will praise your limbs and wonder at your
modesty and shamelessness together. I never doubt
any act in you, little one. Goodbye now.
Every night I look east to say Goodbye
my own sweet little one, Goodnight"
Goodbye my life I am your truest friend
Edward and you ever my own sweet little one,
Helen, my anemone maiden, Helen fach.
Goodbye. Be careful and moderate. I hope
you are well. Adieu.