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 Butterfly, the wind blows sea-ward, 
 strong beyond the garden-wall!
Butterfly, why do you settle on my
 shoe, and sip the dirt on my shoe, 
Lifting your veined wings, lifting them?
 big white butterfly!

Already it is October, and the wind
 blows strong to the sea
from the hills where snow must have 
 fallen, the wind is polished with 
Here in the garden, with red geraniums, it is warm, it is warm but the wind blows strong to sea-ward, white butterfly, content on my shoe! Will you go, will you go from my warm house? Will you climb on your big soft wings, black-dotted, as up an invisible rainbow, an arch till the wind slides you sheer from the arch-crest and in a strange level fluttering you go out to sea-ward, white speck!

by David Herbert Lawrence
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