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“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.” — Radclyffe Hall

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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.
— Radclyffe Hall