EDGAR ALLAN POE TO SARAH H. WHITMAN — NOVEMBER 14, 1848
My own dearest Helen, so kind so true, so generous — so unmoved by all that would have moved one who had been less than angel: — beloved of my heart of my imagination of my intellect — life of my life — soul of my soul — dear, dearest Helen, how shall I ever thank you as I ought.
I am calm & tranquil & but for a strange shadow of coming evil which haunts me I should be happy. That I am not supremely happy, even when I feel your dear love at my heart, terrifies me. What can this mean?
Perhaps however it is only the necessary reaction after such terrible excitements.
It is 5 o’clock & the boat is just being made fast to the wharf. I shall start in the train that leaves New York at 7 for Fordham. I write this to show you that I have not dared to break my promise to you.
And now dear dearest Helen be true to me (. . . .)