
Let me greet you. Happy New
Year to you. Your poems have
come to me anew—here in
Rome—and have revived
and deepened my consciousness
of great things, of beautiful
things, of everything that lives.
In writing to you at this
late time (for I knew your
poems many years back)
I do what I have often
wished to do.—Thank you.
Christmas Day brought me a
present of all your writings—original
editions—and hence
this movement of admiration
and love towards you.
It is fine to have your words,
your brave sweet words, here
where old Rome crumbles and
new Rome grows; it is fine
to have your visions of the
States, of men and women
in our land, while I am
close to the Coliseum,
not far from the Pantheon
and the Appian Way.
I shall write. Your
poems are an Appian
Way for the triumphal
thoughts of the American, and you celebrate
a theatre of action greater than Rome's
Coliseum in celebrating our wide land.
I shall hope for the chance to say publically
what I now write to you. I have been
several years in Rome. I have my studies
here—for I am a painter. I trust that
the time may come when, before this year
has gone—I may have the pleasure
of seeing you.