|Portrait of Sophie Gray (1857) J E Millais|
My sister wears a cross of wings,
The golden thread in her hair sings,
My hair is filled with flame and smoke,
That lifts my chin until I choke,
There’s barely any white to stitch,
My heart is picked out in the pitch.
I’m not so young as not to see
The pain you garlanded on me,
Your joy is tainted by a snare,
Your missteps taken into air,
Oh, how those shadows cloak your bark,
My heart is picked out in the dark.
Will I repeat mistakes and pain?
Will I know infamy or fame?
Will I be met with smile or sneer?
Will I evoke a laugh or tear?
No matter how defiantly,
I can’t foresee my destiny,
Your theatre pressed me to the back,
My heart is picked out in the black.