Are they blue, gray or green? Mysterious eyes 
(as if in fact you were looking through a mist) 
in alternation tender, dreamy, grim 
to match the shiftless pallor of the sky. 

That's what you're like- these warm white afternoons 
which make the ravished heart dissolve in tears, 
the nerves, inexplicably overwrought, 
outrage the dozing mind. 

Not always, though-sometimes 
you're like the horizon when the sun 
ignites our cloudy autumn-how you glow! 
A sodden countryside in sudden rout, 
turned incandescent by a changing wind. 

Dangerous woman-demoralizing days! 
Will I adore your killing frost as much, 
and in that implacable winter, when it comes, 
discover pleasures sharper than iron and ice?