Butterfly, butterfly, where are you going?
'Over the roses into the sky.'
Butterfly, butterfly, there is no knowing
When you'll come back again, so good-bye!
...
O Italy of chiming bells,
Of pilgrim shrines and holy wells,
Of incense mist and secret prayers,
Profound and sweet as scented airs
...
Beneath the lime trees in the garden
High above the town,
The scent of whose suspended bloom
Entranced the air with warm perfume
...
The sea was witness of the words you said :
She hushed her every tide that she might hear
Your whispered love, and while you bent so near
My bosom, laying down your weary head
...
You're just as pretty as the Day,
That young and pink above the hills
Trips daintily along her way,
With little breezy thrills.
...
Can nothing last?
No deep, intense emotion?
Have all things passed,
Can nothing last?
...
I BE hopin' you remember,
Now the Spring has come again,
How we used to gather violets
By the Uttle church at Eastnor,
...
I RODE through Eastnor woods to-day.
And all the air did promise May,
Did promise May till every tree
Found voice to make much melody.
...
' Oh ! bother,' sang the thrush,
'I'm in an awful rush,
For I've got to get ready for the Spring.
With feathers from my breast,
...
From Wind's Point hill at eventide,
I see the train go by ;
The train that goes to Ledbury,
Along the vale of Wye.
...