Betty Bray, January 1918. Aged 11.

[See Note on page 155.]

BENEATH MY WINDOW

Beneath my window, roses red and white

Nod like a host of flitting butterflies;

But, faded by the day, one ev’ry night

Shakes its soft petals to the ground, and dies.

And that is why I see, when night doth pass,

Tears in her sisters’ eyes, and on the grass.