Tennis Makes Me Happy You, Not So Much

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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