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- On the hill-side
- Radclyffe Hall
- A Memory
- You lay so still in the sunshine,
- So still in that hot sweet hour—
- That the timid things of the forest land
- Came close; a butterfly lit on your hand,
- Mistaking it for a flower.
- You scarcely breathed in your slumber,
- So dreamless it was, so deep—
- While the warm air stirred in my veins like wine,
- The air that had blown through a jasmine vine,
- But you slept—and I let you sleep.
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