no law, who leads me in strange highways and byways, and whose mind for me is a labyrinth wherein I walk in piteous confusion.
One is a vision of her as an extremely wicked person whom I regard with fear, whom it behooves me to hate, but whom I love.
One is a vision of her as a woman of any age who is, above all, uncompromising and unsympathetic. If I am joyous, she is placid; if I am heavy of heart, she is placid; if I am full of anticipation, she is placid; if I am in despair, she is placid.
One is a vision of her as a shadow among shadows. She is not real, I say to myself. One day I shall awake and find her vanished—without pain and without "sadness of farewell," and as if she had not been.
One is a vision of her as one who is in the world and of the world, and like the
