My beloved Anne,
Just this minute, the minute I could no longer see the gold of your hair or make out the green of your dress on the receding platform, I sat straight down to this letter so that it might seem, for me at least, that our conversation and companionship keeps on unbroken even though this train bears me hurtling away from you.
I wonder at the glances you must be receiving now from my mother and father and from Miss Cuthbert and Mrs Lynde after you flew at me so passionately on the platform. My dearest Anne, I am certainly not complaining, but I'm fairly sure that you've given Rachel Lynde her topic for the month! As for me, it seems even now as if I'm still enveloped in that glowing aura of yours and I can feel the warmth of your hands and your face and your hair and your lips and you have positively infused right to the ends of my tingling fingers and toes. To think that kisses and embraces like that will be the stock of my daily life in only a few short years! Even now I find myself stretching out into this all-encompassing warmth and joy. Oh, I will positively luxuriate in your affection, my betrothed. If only I could rush on these next few years and send us off on our honeymoon immediately!
Well, you left me with an unintentional parting gift, my lovely one. As I looked down to write, I noticed a glimmer of fiery gold on my coat and realised that a strand of your hair must have entwined itself around my button in the flurry of our now no-doubt scandalous embrace. I gently unwound the golden strand from my button and after admiring the way it glistened and shone in the afternoon light, I found myself winding and tying it around the fourth finger on my left hand. It remains there, Anne, shining in lieu of the golden band that you yourself will place there with a solemn vow in the not-too-distant future.
Each time I look down I see the way the light catches my "wedding band" and Anne, honestly, I marvel at the wonders of your hair. I hate the contribution I made, so many years ago, to any insecurity you had about it. To own the truth, Anne, over the years, the sight of your hair has only ever brought me joy, especially in the winter when everyone would be arrayed in their greys and blacks and charcoals and browns. I could always find your mane of glowing fire across the church or lecture hall.
Anne, I should confess that on many such wintery Sunday mornings, when your hair and the flower arrangements were the only splashes of colour, I would have my Bible open devoutly before me but the words that I'd be reading and praying and dreaming would be these:
Beloved, thou art fair. My love, behold, thou art fair. Thou hast doves eyes.
As the lily among thorns, so is my beloved among the daughters.
Though art all fair my love there is no spot in thee.
Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse:
Thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, with one chain of thy neck.
How fair is thy love, my sister, my spouse! How much better is thy love than wine.
Oh, my Anne, how I delighted in the words of the beloved when she says:
This is my beloved and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.
I knew you loved me as a friend, Anne, oh, but I wanted so much more. And now to think I have all that I've longed for since I was a boy of fourteen – my friend, you are, and you have always been my beloved. And you love me! If I weren't travelling further from you by the minute I'd be the happiest man alive!
Darling, I do so want to be a good doctor and be able to be of service to my fellow man but this absence from you is almost enough to make me want to toss it in and take up farming so that you can scribble away at your stories and I can chase cows about and we'll never have to be parted. Would you be satisfied with me if all I strived for were prize-winning cabbages, my dearest Anne? Well, I guess it's true that we love each other for who we are and that I would not be myself if I could be content with cabbages nor would you be yourself if you could be content with pretty muslin curtains. We have high ideals, don't we my darling? So many dreams and ambitions between us. We must work just as hard then at being content on the way to achieving our dreams and ensuring that we make time to rest. I for one intent to devote at least an hour a day to the simple pleasure of adoring you.
What forms would you like my adoration to take, my dear, sweet Anne? I confess that I'm a little nervous about this letter. Can you believe that though I've loved you desperately for seven long years, this is the first proper epistle that I've composed to you? You've only ever received little notes from my hand before because I could never trust myself not to betray the feelings that you always seemed so wary of if I wrote any more. I know that you've had love letters before, Anne. You've probably even had poetry composed for you. Can my meagre effort measure up? Can you be content to receive letters like this from me, written out of my absolute devotion, even if I'm not a poet? I'd be sad for that romantic school girl within you if you found your fiancé's correspondence disappointing. For you'll receive many letters, beloved Anne. As long as I'm writing to you, you're right here with me, a part of all that I'm doing. If I'm not writing to you, or delighting in reading something you've composed for me, how weary, stale, flat and unprofitable all of my endeavours will seem. Each time I take up my pen I'll be seeking to enter into that lover's communion with you that I have longed for over so many years and only enjoyed for a few fleeting months before having to leave you.
The guard just informed me that the train approaches Halifax and so I must surrender my pen and our one-sided conversation just for now. The sky seems grey and cold now, all the sun must be shining on you in Avonlea which is perfectly right and fitting. In fact, I command it, though I have no power to command the heavenly bodies, to shine on you always, there is none more deserving.
All my love to you, my precious Anne – the future Mrs Gilbert Blythe – from the one who longs for you night and day and will one day have you all to himself.
Your Gilbert.