CROQUET.
O feeblest game, how strange if you should rise
To favour, vice tennis superseded!
And yet beneath such glowing summer skies,
When wildest energy is invalided,
Mere hitting balls through little hoops
Seems work enough. One merely stoops,
And lounges round, no other toil is needed.
Upon a breezy lawn beneath the shade
Of rustling trees that hide the sky so sunny,