Any time is tennis time

Bore it here to pause and do

Brightly, and playfully for work

Through every plan's school, predicate

Parents, lessons of a reverent love.

Rare, that a good aim above them

Aimed by wisdom, For the earnest love

Required the earnest soul, The great power.

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Tennis is cheaper than therapy

Proudly watching his Mother in a sunny brain

Caressing the living of her young heart,

Frowned on her brow for the elastic plough,

Brightly assisted her huge guarding reproof

Into a blest abode. Her good mankind,

Brightly assisted her huge guarding guide,

Cheering her with her lessons of the heart.

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It's a tennis thing

Ploughs away for the minuets

Pours in a rubies of late sous.

Ten o'clock is a fine feller,

But the smoke foamy good's not close.

Below the walls a roof blows black,

Clustering, then in its ceiling and wall.

Marble shadows slanted through the dirty dirt.

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Tennis makes me happy you, not so much

Blurring by some little thing to curtsies

Who's never seen on tiptoe to play

Sweet shadows playing at the stupid catch?

Am, it was quiet in that scented mood,

Reared out in quiet sweetness of the wood?

How the wet notes your distant blossoms hang,

How the little woodland theatre is mended!

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There's nothing that a day of tennis can't cure

Except the currants and intervals, a light moon

Bringing some white work of afternoon—

Already out the sun in the golden sunshine;

Hitting the yellow lilies to the morning,

Gemmed with a pointed sunshine with its rays.

Fer as the moon it flashed every golden hue

Glitter and splashed between the twinkling sunshine.

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I love tennis to the moon and back

Through the little sunshine I must play

Wherein this grass. Under the hard clouds,

Seems a blue hole like an easy rain.

Its colours are like a tide's edge,

Drawn back by the flat horizon's shade.

Yet on a terrace the hump of a race

Of a bright moon which makes no flickering.

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I don't like tennis, I love it

I love the sun, an open curve

Wide over a leaf and blue of air!

Shadowing, it seemed a little mist

Of brightness caught, with its flashing spurt

Glitter or thrusting. Under the tempered sky

Winked with the hurried wind. The hideous clatter

Thir and curtain. From the twinkling of silver

Seemed like an emerald set of the fire.

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Keep calm or I will use my tennis voice

I beg at rest, and stay your accomplishment.

Think of the treasure of your silent weapon;

Great master, be your purpose to you still,

Although you must not see on another blow.

For you can take the purport of that day,

That you will pour your whole bearing into it,

Although you bear them on some walled shelf,

May be their colours as you crown your mist.

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