XXXVIII. WITH FLOWERS.
| South winds jostle them, Bumblebees come, Hover, hesitate, Drink, and are gone. Butterflies pause On their passage Cashmere; I, softly plucking, Present them here! |
The flowers could be her love or something of the sort. The wind could be her thoughts that mess around with and jostle with her love. When the bumblebees could be past lovers that have hesitated to love her and are now gone. This poem shows in my eyes that she had past lovers and mixed emotions about them but none of her lovers stayed around. She has not had luck in the past with her lovers.
