Masonubu — Early

By John Gould Fletcher

She was a dream of moons, of fluttering handkerchiefs,

Of flying leaves, of parasols,

A riddle made to break my heart;

The lightest impulse

To her was more dear than the deep-toned temple bell.

She fluttered to my sword-hilt an instant,

And then flew away;

But who will spend all day chasing a butterfly?