How blithe you are, and tall, And oh, so good to see! How eager with the ball And for its mastery! You rise, a laughing joy, Intent that all the day No rougher youngling boy A better game shall play. At tennis how you run — The net is nought to leap! On your flushed cheek the sun, Your eyes brown-bright from sleep! At golf how free your arm; The waves know its caress. Grief takes a quick alarm At your sweet sprightliness! Your crown the mightiest queen Must envy, laughing maid: Who would not be thirteen, So tall, and unafraid! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BALLAD WHICH ANNE ASKEW MADE AND SANG WHEN SHE WAS IN NEWGATE by ANNE ASKEWE BROTHERS by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS A WEATHER PROPHET by JANE BARLOW THE LAST MAN: DREAM OF DYING by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE VIADUCT by GORDON BOTTOMLEY THE WIDOWER by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |