I knew you, had my hand on you, when _presto_! and you were away, gone--I was lost.

He is a fool who knows not his own ignorance; I was wise enough to know mine.

Art, poetry, music,--what do I know of them?
And they were the great things, are the great things to you, mean more to you than the little things I may comprehend.

And I had hoped, blindly, foolishly, that we might be one in the spirit as well as the one flesh.

It has been bitter, but I have faced it, and understand.