There's Nothing That a Day of Tennis Can't Cure

There's nothing that a day of tennis can't cure

Except the currants and intervals, a light moon

Bringing some white work of afternoon—

Already out the sun in the golden sunshine;

Hitting the yellow lilies to the morning,

Gemmed with a pointed sunshine with its rays.

Fer as the moon it flashed every golden hue

Glitter and splashed between the twinkling sunshine.

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