It seems a formal thing to write, and yet there should be nothing less marred by formality than such a letter as mine.

It is only that the choice is too great.

I have too much to say, and so say nothing.

I would ask, if I were so honoured by Heaven, the tongues of men and of angels, and all the mighty word-music of sage and prophet, that I might tell you how I love you, my heart's own.

I would ask that for one hour I might hold in my hand the baton of heaven's choir.