Lying beside a bank of silvery cinquefoil against a clear evening sky, where the planet Venus is a point of new and warmer light, one has the vision of her.

Or something of Persephone rising to greet her mother, when our beam of day first melts through her as she kneels to gather an early bud of the year, would be near it.

Or there is a lake in mid-forest, that curls part in shadow under the foot of morning: there we have her.
He strained to the earthly and the skyey likenesses of his marvel of human beauty because they bestowed her on him in passing.

All the while, he was gazing on a green gaming-table.
The gold glittered, and it heaped or it vanished.

Contemptuous of money, beyond the limited sum for his needs, he gazed; imagination was blunted in him to the hot drama of the business.