Katherine Mansfield

(14 October 1888 – 9 January 1923 / Wellington)

Katherine Mansfield Poems

1. The Meeting 9/10/2015
2. Sanary 12/31/2002
3. The Quarrel 12/31/2002
4. The Sea-Child 1/3/2003
5. Sea Song 12/31/2002
6. The Opal Dream Cave 12/31/2002
7. The Arabian Shawl 12/31/2002
8. The Gulf 12/31/2002
9. Villa Pauline 12/31/2002
10. Night-Scented Stock 1/3/2003
11. The Awakening River 12/31/2002
12. Song Of Karen, The Dancing Child 12/31/2002
13. The Candle 12/31/2002
14. Song Of The Little White Girl 12/31/2002
15. The Town Between The Hills 12/31/2002
16. Spring Wind In London 12/31/2002
17. To L. H. B. (1894-1915 ) 12/31/2002
18. Secret Flowers 4/2/2010
19. There Is A Solemn Wind Tonight 1/3/2003
20. The Family 12/31/2002
21. Opposites 12/31/2002
22. Sea 12/31/2002
23. Waves 12/31/2002
24. The Storm 12/31/2002
25. Out In The Garden 12/31/2002
26. The Man With The Wooden Leg 12/31/2002
27. The Wounded Bird 12/31/2002
28. Song By The Window Before Bed 12/31/2002
29. The Secret 12/31/2002
30. Sorrowing Love 12/31/2002
31. The Pillar Box 12/31/2002
32. Stars 12/31/2002
33. The Earth-Child In The Grass 12/31/2002
34. The Black Monkey 12/31/2002
35. Voices Of The Air 12/31/2002
36. Now I Am A Plant, A Weed... 12/31/2002
37. Sleeping Together 12/31/2002
38. There Was A Child Once 12/31/2002
39. A New Hymn 12/31/2002
40. To God The Father 12/31/2002

Comments about Katherine Mansfield

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    What a fantastic quote: ''I'm a writer first and a woman after.''

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  • yousia (3/12/2018 8:56:00 AM)

    this poem
    made me cry

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Best Poem of Katherine Mansfield

Butterfly Laughter

In the middle of our porridge plates
There was a blue butterfly painted
And each morning we tried who should reach the
butterfly first.
Then the Grandmother said: "Do not eat the poor
butterfly."
That made us laugh.
Always she said it and always it started us laughing.
It seemed such a sweet little joke.
I was certain that one fine morning
The butterfly would fly out of our plates,
Laughing the teeniest laugh in the world,
And perch on the Grandmother's lap.

Read the full of Butterfly Laughter

To L. H. B. (1894-1915 )

Last night for the first time since you were dead
I walked with you, my brother, in a dream.
We were at home again beside the stream
Fringed with tall berry bushes, white and red.
"Don't touch them: they are poisonous," I said.
But your hand hovered, and I saw a beam
Of strange, bright laughter flying round your head
And as you stooped I saw the berries gleam.
"Don't you remember? We called them Dead Man's

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