It was three minutes perhaps ere I knew what it was. I had seen her
Somewhere before I am sure, but that wasn’t it; not its import;
No, it had seemed to regard me with simple superior insight,
Quietly saying to itself—Yes, there he is still in his fancy,
Letting drop from him at random as things not worth his considering
All the benefits gathered and put in his hands by fortune,
Loosing a hold which others, contented and unambitious,
Trying down here to keep up, know the value of better than he does,
What is this? was it perhaps?—Yes, there he is still in his fancy,
Doesn’t yet see we have here just the things he is used to elsewhere;