Reprisal

We can see Jura and Mont Blanc & the

whole scene reminds me of Geneva.

You’d landed in Calais and were en route

to Lyons, eschewing Paris. The scenery

was spectacular, the weather delightful.

Then, approaching the Alps, snow began

to encroach upon the road. You entered

Italy via the treacherous Cenis Pass.

The cold foreshadowed Byron’s icy

reception. You all wanted to reprise

the summer of 1816—all except the

Lord, who vowed never to see Claire

again, the mother of his daughter, 

whom she’d brought, hopeful, to Milan. 

from “Mary W. Shelley: A Biography in Sonnets”