‘Yea, to Love himself is pour’d This frail song of hope and fear. Thou art Love, of one accord With kind Sleep to bring him near, Still-eyed, deep-eyed, ah, how dear! Master, Lord, In his name implor’d, O hear!’ D. G. ROSSETTI ‘My dear Allingham,’ he wrote, ‘it is very charming of you to think of venturing into this remote corner of the world for no other reason than to renew our friendship, and I must beg of you to let as little time as possible elapse between your promise and its fulfilment. Not only do I consider your idea a delightful one, but also I venture to find it really courageous, since to look me up again, after so many years, must be to take something remarkably like a leap in …
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