the sun at noon
I can not even tell , whether she is dead , or still alive . And yet it can not be : she is not dead . And yet , she is nowhere to be found : for I have searched the wood a hundred times from end to end , till there is not a single one of all its leaves I have not turned upside down , and all in vain . For she has vanished like a dream , leaving not so much as even the shadow of a clue behind : and she resembles a drop of dew , dried by the sun at noon on the leaf of a red lotus , with nothing but the memory of those who saw it in the morning to show that it was ever there . She has gone , I know not how , I know not where ; snatched away and stolen , and it may be even put to death , or something that is worse than any death , by those who have carried her away , I know not who . And O alas ! that I ever left her .