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!