Sonnet
Who is it that winks in soft daylight here? If I were but a shell of myself you; Of all would turn away and disappear For all is changed save my skin and its hue So wherefore, I ask, is your laugh so strange? These lines so unfamiliar and new Are etched into your porcelain skin; changed Not thy appearance, but thy moral view Milky white is your treachery and though Your sweet speech is still novelty to me It is cold, near hated, and lost its glow And I know not the person that I see. What appeared to be a look of true pain Was to me indifference; cold before rain