In a garden where the may made the straggling fences gay <br />And the roses cream and scarlet shed their petals on the breeze <br />Your maiden aunts and I, and you, demure and shy, <br />Played a sober game of croquet underneath the spreading trees. <br /> <br />Just beyond the garden wall we could hear the merry call <br />Of the tennis players yonder, flitting gaily in the sun, <br />But we recked not of their glee, for all too content were we, <br />And we weren’t flushed and heated when our quiet game was done. <br /> <br />What a picture sweet you made! As you rested in the shade, <br />Listening to my eager chatter with a glance of grave surprise; <br />Was it nectar, love, or tea that your white hands poured for me <br />In the dainty Wedgewood tea-cups that were bluer than your eyes? <br /> <br />Love I know not; this I know, that we parted years ago – <br />That our paths lie far asunder in the giddy whirl of life, <br />And the tender vows we made, underneath the spreading shade, <br />Are a memory half forgotten ‘mid the city’s toil and strife. <br /> <br />But when wearied by its din, by its ceaseless strife and sin, <br />My thoughts will wander backwards at the close of some long day, <br />Once again I see you stand with your mallet in your hand, <br />‘Twixt a nodding scarlet rose-bush and a hedge of snowy may. <br /> <br />And the scent of mignonette comes to haunt and thrill me yet <br />While your blue eyes light the distance with a half reproachful smile; <br />Love, it is the world sad way, just to worship for a day- <br />And I doubt if you remember, after all this weary while.<br /><br />Alice Guerin Crist<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/croquet/
