Radclyffe Hall Poems
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!
Sunlight and shade,
Moorland and glade,
Evening and day,
Winter and May,
Born of the Spring,
Thrushes that sing
From downy throats,
Be unto me
Each one of ye
Sister or brother;
And Earth be my mother!