LAWN TENNIS
Now the long shadows of September come,
And idle for a time the scribbler's pen is,
He passes from the Town's discordant hum,
From garrulous gossip of the kettle-drum,[38]
From orators who should have been born dumb,
To watch upon green lawns the girls play tennis.
Robins are trilling in the faded trees,
The flitting swallows of their voyage chatter,