Still the same old
weariness of study; "weariness of the flesh." Books are treasures,
but one may work among treasures even, digging and delving, till there is
little enjoyment in them. And the greater pain is, that, by becoming numb to
the beautiful and true, in any form, one does not feel its power entirely,
anywhere. So I felt this morning, which I stole from my books. I sat on a ledge
in a distant field, all around me beautiful with June, and no sight or sound of
human care in sight. I sat there like a prisoner, whose chains had dropped for
the moment, but the weight and pain of them lingered still. Yet I began to feel
what it is to be free, and how sweet and soothing nature always is, before I
rose to return. I think it would not take me long to get accustomed to freedom,
and to rejoice in it with exceeding joy.
SOURCE: Daniel
Dulany Addison, “Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary,” pp. 94-5
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