flames of white

To the heart, to the heart the white petals

Quietly fall.

Memory is a little wind, and magical

The dreaming hours.

As a breath they fall, as a sigh;

Green garden hours too langorous to waken.

White leaves of blossomy tree wind-shaken;

As a breath, a sigh,

As the slow white drift

Of a butterfly.

Flower-wings falling, wings of branches

One after one at wind's droop dipping;

Then with the lift

Of the air's soft breath, in sudden avalanches

Slipping.

Quietly, quietly the June wind flings

White wings,

White petals, past the footpath flowers

Adown my dreaming hours.

At the heart, at the heart the butterfly settles.

As a breath, a sigh

Fall the petals of hours, of the white-leafed flowers

Fall the petalled wings of the butterfly.

To my heart, to my heart the white petals

Quietly fall.
-Thomas Moult