It was splendid.

It was the poem matured, broadened, rounded.

And finally your first play! How I listened to every word, watched every move! I wrote you a letter that night, but tore it up, not having the courage to send it to you.
How versatile you must be: a poem, a book, a play! I have seen all your plays these five years, plays merry and gay, sad and grave.

How many times you have mysteriously told me to be brave! I envy and admire you.

What an exquisite thing it must be to hear one's thoughts spoken across the footlights! Please do not laugh.