Or the lover imagines himself dead and in his grave; and he pictures her, as she lightly steps over the grass that covers him, drawing her draperies closely round her lest perchance he should stretch up his hands and touch them. And yet love, like the fire, dies out unless it is fed with fuel; and the lover in his despair recognizes this too, and blames her for giving the encouragement that he desires. She represents in herself the evanescence of joy, the swift passing of laughter, the difficulty of holding the moment of beauty.