Eleanor Farjeon

The Girl with the Ball

She ran with her ball in her light dress floating and free,
Tossing it, tossing it up in the evening light,
She ran with her ball at the edge of the outgoing sea
On sand which the dropping sun turned bright.

Over the sea hung birds more white than the skin
Of the last few swimmers who took the waves with their breasts;
The birds dipped straight as her ball when a silver fin
Glanced in the shallow crests.

She ran so swift, and suddenly stopped as swift
To look at a shell, or splash up a pool in rain;
Wind blew, and she in the wind began to drift
Foam-like, and suddenly ran again.

Children who played on the shore in the last of the day
Paused and watched in wonder her rise and fall
Like elders watching a child: she was younger than they
As she ran by the sea with her ball.

    Her hair was loose and she had no shoes on her feet,
    And her image ran under her feet on the wet gold shore,
    She threw up her ball and she caught it, and once laughed sweet
    As though the world had never heard laughter before.