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?

-Charles Baudelaire