May Is Much Sunshine Through Small Leaves.

May Is Much Sunshine Through Small Leaves.

Rapture's Self Is Three Parts Sorrow.

Not A Softness Anywhere About Me, Only Whalebone And Brocade.

This Is War: Boys Flung Into A Breach Like Shoveled Earth; And Old Men, Broken, Driving Rapidly Before Crowds Of People In A Glitter Of Silly Decorations. Behind The Boys And The Old Men, Life Weeps, And Shreds Her Garments To The Blowing Winds.

Oh! To Be A Butterfly Still, Upon A Flower, Winking With Its Painted Wings, Happy In The Hour.