—Stendhal, The Red and the Black

I am frightened by ladders, Freud, by ladders,

Ladders that rock and shudder and sink in the ground.

As I rise to dangerous roofs and windows and branches,

My soul, Freud, my soul sinks in the ground.

What does this tell of my love, Freud, my love?

Is every swaying balcony or boudoir

Out of reach of my love because of my nerve’s

Faltering, Freud, after three rungs, Freud, or four?

Help me, Freud, oh help me master the gap

Between the ground and all such high and precarious places.

Hold the ladder firm, and when I fly up,

Tell me, Freud, of successful similar cases.

Without you, Freud, my love will tumble, and then

Never, Freud, will I fly up ladders again.