Thomas Hardy

The High-School Lawn

Gray prinked with rose,
White tipped with blue,
Shoes with gay hose,
Sleeves of chrome hue;
Fluffed frills of white,
Dark bordered light;
Such shimmerings through
Trees of emerald green are eyed
This afternoon, from the road outside.

They whirl around:
Many laughters run
With a cascade’s sound;
Then a mere one.

A bell: they flee:
Silence then: –
So it will be
Some day again
With them, – with me.