Radclyffe Hall

(1880 - 1943 / Bournemouth, Hampshire)

Radclyffe Hall Poems

1. Kinship 8/13/2014
2. On A Battle Field 8/13/2014
3. The Moon's Massage 8/13/2014
4. To 8/13/2014
5. The All-Mother's Awakening 8/13/2014
6. A Summer Thought 8/13/2014
7. A Twilight Fancy 8/13/2014
8. The Two Angels 8/13/2014
9. In The Hardt Wald 8/13/2014
10. A Welcome 8/13/2014
11. White Butterflies 8/13/2014
12. Thoughts 8/13/2014
13. An August Night 8/13/2014
14. Spring Hopes 8/13/2014
15. My Choice 8/13/2014
16. In Couples 8/13/2014
17. House Hunting 8/13/2014
18. Re-Incarnation 8/13/2014
19. Incompatible 8/13/2014
20. Confidence 8/13/2014
21. Found Wanting 8/13/2014
22. In Darkness 8/13/2014
23. Brother Filippo 8/13/2014
24. Before Dawn 8/13/2014
25. My Castle 8/13/2014
26. Malvern 8/13/2014
27. Ardour 8/14/2014
28. A Complaint 8/14/2014
29. The Laying Of Ghosts 8/14/2014
30. To A Baby 8/14/2014
31. To? 8/14/2014
32. A Windy June 8/14/2014
33. Hollyhocks 8/14/2014
34. The Truth 8/14/2014
35. Trepidation 8/13/2014
36. To Roses 8/14/2014
37. My Walley 8/14/2014
38. To―― 8/14/2014
39. Finis 8/14/2014
40. Old Verses 8/14/2014

Comments about Radclyffe Hall

  • Rajnish Manga Rajnish Manga (8/14/2016 3:04:00 AM)

    I like the simplicity and sweetness of expression that goes into the poems of this wonderful Poet. Though, his early days were not so sporty, he definitely transformed his loneliness and energy into a class poetry. Thanks.

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Best Poem of Radclyffe Hall

Butterfly

Song

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!

Butterfly, butterfly, summer is glowing,
But with the winter you too must die,
And your frail soul will be gently blowing
Upward to God on a rose's sigh.
Butterfly, butterfly, butterfly!

Read the full of Butterfly

A Summer Thought

I often think that all those vast desires
For purer joys, that thrill the human heart,
Vague yearnings such as solitude inspires,
That nameless something silence can impart,

Could after all be quenched by simple things,
Whose spirits dwell within the wide-eyed flowers,
Or haunt deep glades, where scent of primrose clings
About the garments of the passing hours.

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