Flight of a butterfly

“Come to me!”
“Come to me!”
A siren’s song borne on the night wind
heard in fragments caught in the crash and rush of the tide.
A wild, heart-breaking haunting cry like the call of a dying gull;
a sound that calls, beckons
to a soul as restless as the sea,
“Come to me!”
Come to me!

Lose yourself

 in me,
Feel the power, ride the swell,
rise
higher and higher
until you break,
crash
as waves upon the rocks,
tumble
down
down
into

the very depths

of me

Come to me!

Lose yourself

 in me
“Come to me!”
“Come to me
drown

 in

        me!

My lady stood at the window,
And a bird sang by the gate:
‘Get you into the meadows
Before it be too late.’

My lady sat at her mirror,
And a bird sang on the wall:
‘Oh get you into the woodlands
‘Before the evening fall.’

My lady lay in the churchyard,
And a bird sang on the bough:
‘Lie still, lie still, my lady,
‘For summer is over now.’

Ballard,
Mary Stewart

When day is done, and clouds are low,
And flowers are honey-dew,
And Hesper’s lamp begins to glow
Along the western blue;
And homeward wing the turtle-doves,
Then comes the hour the poet loves.
The Poet’s Hour
– George Croly