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gri_2003_m_46_b01_f08_023

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  1. 65314238 - tmeconverse
  2. 65316395 - southsidesunny
  3. 65329444 - not-logged-in-5ff38c4d00b4249a82be
  4. 65356139 - l4q
  5. WINNER - 65361138 - not-logged-in-7e6ee492de76b2be3f0c

65314238 - tmeconverse

11 Mansel Road
Wimbledon
16 ix 1948

Dearest Sylvia.

'Make not my glad cause, cause of Mourning'. George Peele.

Your letter moved me very much. My first though[t] after receiving it was to phone or wire you. The post seemed too slow. But I realized it is the only mode of communication full enough and private. This morning you will have read my letter.

I know well that your past has been bitter and I do hope that its memories have not been roused by my words on Monday. If so I ask you to forgive me and remember, not that clumsiness, but the moments I have pleased you.

I remember that we worked out an intellectual basis for our love. I think it still holds. The fact that I desire more than I get is not incompatible with reality - for reality in this case could be a little more generous than things-as-they-are.

The words of yours that wring my heart are 'worn out'. I know that they mean - indifference born of pain, and I only hope your suffering has not had this effect this time for I hope you are persuaded again of the sincerity [[underlined]] and energy [[/underlined]] of my love.

Have you felt like painting yet? Your portrait of Michael is a step in the direction you have wanted to go - towards more descriptive drawing though I am delighted your color has not been in the last sacrificed.
----------
For Sylvia
Mirrors compete
For my lady's form,
And sad to lose
Her lovely arms,
Browned by the sun,
When she turns to me;

For then my eyes
Reflect her beauty
More surely than the glass,
For to her images
I add Desire
And confidence of grace.

[[handwritten]] I love you, Lawrence [[/handwritten]]

65316395 - southsidesunny

11 Mansel Road
Wimbledon

15 ix 1948
Dearest Sylvia,
'Make not my glad cause, cause of mourning'.
George Peele.

Your letter moved me very much. My first
thought after receiving it was to phone or wire
you. The post seemed too slow. But I realised
it is the only mode of communication full enough
and private. This morning you will have read my
letter.

I know well that your past has been bitter and
I do hope that its memories have not been roused
by my words on Monday. If so I ask you to forgive me and remember, not that clumsiness, but the moments
I have pleased you.

I remember that we worked out an intellectual
basis for our love. I think it still holds. The
fact that I desire more that I get is not incomp-
atible with reality - for reality in this case could
be a little more generous than things-as-they-are.

The words of yours that wring my heart are 'worn out'. I know what they mean - indifference born of
pain, and I only hope your suffering has not had
this effect this time for I hope you are persuaded
again of the sincerity and energy of my love.

Have you felt like painting yet? Your portrait
of Michael is a step in the direction you have
wanted to go - towards more descriptive drawing
though I am delighted your color has not been in
the last sacrificed.

FOR SYLVIA
Mirrors compete
For my lady's form.
Are sad to lose
Her lovely arms,
Browned by the sun,
When she turns to me;

For then my eyes
Reflect her beauty
More surely than the glass,
For to her images
I add desire
And confidence of grace.

I love you, Lawrence

65329444 - not-logged-in-5ff38c4d00b4249a82be

11 Mansel Road
Wimbledon

15 ix 1948

Dearest Sylvia,

'Make not my glad cause, cause of mourning'.
George Peele.

Your letter moved me very much. My first thought after receiving it was to phone or wire you. The post seemed too slow. But I realised it is the only mode of communication full enough and private. This morning you will have my letter.

I know well that your past has been bitter and I do hope that its memories have not been roused by my words on Monday. If so I ask you to forgive me and remember, not that clumsiness, but the moments I have pleased you.

I remember that we worked out an intellectual basis for our love. I think it still holds. The fact that I desire more than I get is not incompatible with reality -- for reality in this case could be a little more generous than things-as-they-are.

The words of yours that wring my heart are 'worn out'. I know what they mean -- indifference born of pain, and I only hope your suffering has not had this effect this time for I hope you are persuaded again of the sincerity of energy of my love.

Have you felt like painting yet? Your portrait of Michael is a step in the direction you have wanted to go -- towards more descriptive drawing though I am delighted your color has not been in the last sacrificed.

For Sylvia

Mirrors compete
For my lady's form.
Are sad to lose
Her lovely arms,
Browned by the sun.
When she turns to me;

For then my eyes
Reflect her beauty
More surely than the glass,
For to her images
I add desire
And confidence of grace.

I love you, Lawrence

65356139 - l4q

11 Mansel Road
Wimbledon

15 ix 1948

Dearest Sylvia,

'Make not my glad cause, cause of mourning'. George Peele.

Your letter moved me very much. My first thought after receiving it was to phone or wire you. The post seemed to slow. But I realised it is the only communication full enough and private. This morning you will have read my letter.

I know well that your past has been bitter and I do hope that its memories have not been roused by my words on Monday. If so I ask you to forgive me and remember, not that clumsiness, but the moments I have pleased you.

I remember that we worked out an intellectual basis for our love. I think it still holds. The fact that I desire more than I get is not incompatible with reality - for reality in this case could be a little more generous than things-as-they-are.

The words of yours that wring my heart are 'worn out'. I know what they mean - indifference born of pain, and I only hope your suffering has not had this effect this time for I hope you are persuaded again of the sincerity and energy of my love.

Have you felt like painting yet? Your portrait of Michael is a step in the direction you have wanted to go - towards more descriptive drawing though I am delighted you color has not been in the least sacrificed.

For Sylvia
Mirrors compete
For my lay's form,
Are sad to lose
Her lovely arms,
Browned by the sun,
When she turns to me;

For then my eyes
Reflect her beauty
More surely than the glass,
For to her images
I add desire
And confidence of grace.

I love you, Lawrence

WINNER - 65361138 - not-logged-in-7e6ee492de76b2be3f0c

11 Mansel Road
Wimbledon
15 ix 1948

Dearest Sylvia,
'Make not my glad cause, cause of mourning'.
George Peele.

Your letter moved me very much. My first
thought after receiving it was to phone or wire
you. The post seemed too slow. But I realised
it is the only mode of communication full enough
and private. This morning you will have read my
letter.

I know well that your past has been bitter and
I do hope that its memories have not been roused
by my words on Monday. If so I ask you to forgive
me and remember, not that clumsiness, but the moments I have pleased you.

I remember that we worked out an intellectual
basis for our love. I think it still holds. The
fact that I desire more than I get is not incomp-
atible with reality - for reality in this case could
be a little more generous than things-as-they-are.

The words of yours that wring my heart are 'worn
out'. I know what they mean - indifference born of
pain, and I only hope your suffering has not had this effect this time for I hope you are persuaded
again of the sincerity and energy of my love.

Have you felt like painting yet? Your portrait
of Michael is a step in the direction you have
wanted to go - towards more descriptive drawing
though I am delighted your color has not been in
the last sacrificed.

For Sylvia
Mirrors compete
For my lady's form,
Are sad to lose
Her lovely arms,
Browned by the sun,
When she turns to me;

For then my eyes
Reflect her beauty
More surely than the glass,
For to her images
I add desire
And confidence of grace.

I love you, Lawrence

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