Stella, Stella, we are winning, calls Minna,
As her hoop curves round a bed of clove-pinks.
A humming-bird whizzes past Stellas ear,
And two or three yellow-and-black butterflies
Flutter, startled, out of a pillar rose.
Round and round race the little girls
After their great white hoops.
Suddenly Minna stops.
Her hoop wavers an instant,
But she catches it up on her stick.
Listen, Stella!
Both the little girls are listening;
And the scents of the garden rise up quietly about them.
Its the chaise! Its Father!
Perhaps hes brought us a book from Boston.
Twinkle, twinkle, the little criss-cross shoes
Up the garden path.
Blue -- pink -- an instant, against the syringa hedge.
But the hoops, white as stripped willow-wands,
Lie in the grass,
And the grasshoppers jump back and forth
Over them.
II
Battledore and Shuttlecock
The shuttlecock soars upward
In a parabola of whiteness,
Turns,
And sinks to a perfect arc.
Plat! the battledore strikes it,
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