It is blue-butterfly day here in spring, And with these sky-flakes down in flurry on flurry There is more unmixed color on the wing Than flowers will show for days unless they hurry. But these are flowers that fly and all but sing: And now from having ridden out desire They lie closed over in the wind and cling Where wheels have freshly sliced the April mire. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GAME OF CHESS by EZRA POUND A HYMN FOR PROCESSION WITH CROSS AND BANNERS by SABINE BARING-GOULD THE RABBIT by ELIZABETH MADOX ROBERTS ODE TO THE WEST WIND by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 3 by EDWARD TAYLOR RIVER OF SEVILLE by AL-KUTANDI THE BUTTERFLY by MARGARET AVISON |