John Rodker

THERE was a paved alley there,

Apple trees and a lush lawn—

And over the gray wall where the plums were

Stood the red brick of the chapel.

While over the long white wall

Where the green apples grew

And the rusted pears

Hung the gray tower of the church;

So high, you couldn’t see the top

From that narrow garden.

In that narrow garden, on that lush lawn,

We found a ball left from some croquet game.

It had a blue stripe girdling it,

And, “Ah,” I thought,

“It is your soul about me,

And we are flung

Between our separate desires.”

In that narrow garden

On the lush lawn,

We flung this ball each to other.

My eyes were only for your legs, your arms,

Under that hot sun.

The hard ball hurt my hands,

Made them hot and prickly,

And I’d have stopped

But feared losing you

While you too stayed on playing—

“Ah, if I’d but known

Because you would not have me go.”

We played so long,

I’d ceased to think—

All thought, each sense,

Rapt in the shimmering circumference;

The blue stripe girdling it

Shone in the sky.

Then I seemed looking down

From some far field,

With this ball as one of worlds

Scorned

And cast from each to other,

Blue water girdling them—

By and by the tea-bell rang.