She knew that Cordelia was not the kind
Of girl that is made from silence, although
She was quiet, when the men spoke, her mind
An instrument practiced only in low

Resonances in the drawing rooms of
Her sisters. I know what you are, she'd say.
She says it now - exiled, bereft of love.
Cordelia often spoke like this: grey

Moralisms and aggressions hid inside
The slack passivity of her figure,
A doll-like prop in their father's house: wide
Eyed and bare lipped, waiting to transfigure

Into a bride. Orphaned and dowerless,
Cordelia's speech soon turns powerless.