Butterfly

David Herbert Lawrence 1885 (Eastwood, Nottinghamshire) – 1930 (Vence)

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
  snow.
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!

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

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David Herbert Lawrence

David Herbert Lawrence was an English writer and poet. His collected works represent, among other things, an extended reflection upon the dehumanising effects of modernity and industrialisation. Lawrence's writing explores issues such as sexuality, emotional health, vitality, spontaneity, and instinct. Lawrence's opinions earned him many enemies and he endured official persecution, censorship, and misrepresentation of his creative work throughout the second half of his life, much of which he spent in a voluntary exile he called his "savage pilgrimage". At the time of his death, his public reputation was that of a pornographer who had wasted his considerable talents. E. M. Forster, in an obituary notice, challenged this widely held view, describing him as "the greatest imaginative novelist of our generation." Later, the literary critic F. R. Leavis championed both his artistic integrity and his moral seriousness. more…

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    "Butterfly" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2020. Web. 28 Nov. 2020. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/7822/butterfly>.

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