“Her voice was ever soft, Gentle and low”
Cordelia’s mistake was in her taut
Mouth, silence, she refusing praise where praise
Was needed, truth expressed as praise. She ought
To have found other methods, other ways
To counter sisters’ flattery. She gives
Lear nothing, saying, “Nothing, my lord,” yields
No ground in family war. This daughter lives
To see her father crazed and ruined, wields
A mother-like support then, far too late.
Her pride was being purist to his face
While sisters lies turned daughter love to hate
And worse, pathetic madness, mud, disgrace.
Of course she could not know the future of
Three treatments. That’s a fault in human love.
~ Phillip Whidden