Chapter 39
A Butterfly by Ratcliffhall A butterfly hovered over a flower in a bower, With the joy of life at his lips for an hour, With the roses' petals against his wings, And the roses' perfume that steals and clings, Touching every breath with a wondrous power. Then the night came on, and the wind blew cold over the world.
The butterfly shivered, grown tired and old. The rose closed her passionate eyes and slept, While death to her lover in silence crept. He died of a joy untold.
