De Quincey has done so in prose, for instance, and Lord Byron talks of 'The nympholepsy of a fond despair,' though _he_ never was accused of being overridden by his Greek.

Tell me now if I am not justified, I also?
We are all nympholepts in running after our ideals--and none more than yourself, indeed! Our American friend Mr.Jarves wrote to us full of gratitude and gratification on account of your kindness to him, for which we also should thank you.

Whether he felt most overjoyed by the clasp of your hand or that of a disembodied spirit, which he swears was as real (under the mediumship of Hume, his compatriot), it was somewhat difficult to distinguish.

But all else in England seemed dull and worthless in comparison with those two 'manifestations,' the spirit's and yours! How very very kind of your mother to think of my child! and how happy I am near the end of my paper, not to be tempted on into 'descriptions' that 'hold the place of sense.' He is six years old, he reads English and Italian, and writes without lines, and shall I send you a poem of his for 'illumination'?
His poems are far before mine, the very prattle of the angels, when they stammer at first and are not sure of the pronunciation of _e_'s and _i_'s in the spiritual heavens (see Swedenborg).

Really he is a sweet good child, and I am not bearable in my conceit of him, as you see! My thankful regards to your mother, whom I shall hope to meet with you, and do yourself accept as much from us both.
Most truly yours, ELIZABETH B.BROWNING.
We leave Florence next week, and spend at least a week in Paris, 138 Avenue des Champs-Elysees.
* * * * * _To Miss Browning_ Florence: June 12, 1855 [postmark].
How kind and tender of you, my dearest Sarianna, to care so much to hear that I am better! I was afraid that Robert had written in the Crimean style about me, for he was depressed and uneasy, poor darling, and looked at things from the blackest point of view.