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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=343646" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Roxbury Garden</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hoops</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Blue and pink sashes,<br>Criss-cross shoes,<br>Minna and Stella run out into the garden<br>To play at hoop.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Up and down the garden-paths they race,<br>In the yellow sunshine,<br>Each with a big round hoop<br>White as a stripped willow-wand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Round and round turn the hoops,<br>Their diamond whiteness cleaving the yellow sunshine.<br>The gravel crunches and squeaks beneath them,<br>And a large pebble springs them into the air<br>To go whirling for a foot or two<br>Before they touch the earth again<br>In a series of little jumps.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Spring, Hoops!<br>Spit out a shower of blue and white brightness.<br>The little criss-cross shoes twinkle behind you,<br>The pink and blue sashes flutter like flags,<br>The hoop-sticks are ready to beat you.<br>Turn, turn, Hoops! In the yellow sunshine.<br>Turn your stripped willow whiteness<br>Along the smooth paths.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Stella sings:<br>'Round and round, rolls my hoop,<br>Scarcely touching the ground,<br>With a swoop,<br>And a bound,<br>Round and round.<br>With a bumpety, crunching, scattering sound,<br>Down the garden it flies;<br>In our eyes<br>The sun lies.<br>See it spin<br>Out and in;<br>Through the paths it goes whirling,<br>About the beds curling.<br>Sway now to the loop,<br>Faster, faster, my hoop.<br>Round you come,<br>Up you come,<br>Quick and straight as before.<br>Run, run, my hoop, run,<br>Away from the sun.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the great hoop bounds along the path,<br>Leaping into the wind-bright air.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Minna sings:<br>'Turn, hoop,<br>Burn hoop,<br>Twist and twine<br>Hoop of mine.<br>Flash along,<br>Leap along,<br>Right at the sun.<br>Run, hoop, run.<br>Faster and faster,<br>Whirl, twirl.<br>Wheel like fire,<br>And spin like glass;<br>Fire's no whiter<br>Glass is no brighter.<br>Dance,<br>Prance,<br>Over and over,<br>About and about,<br>With the top of you under,<br>And the bottom at top,<br>But never a stop.<br>Turn about, hoop, to the tap of my stick,<br>I follow behind you<br>To touch and remind you.<br>Burn and glitter, so white and quick,<br>Round and round, to the tap of a stick.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The hoop flies along between the flower-beds,<br>Swaying the flowers with the wind of its passing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beside the foxglove-border roll the hoops,<br>And the little pink and white bells shake and jingle<br>Up and down their tall spires;<br>They roll under the snow-ball bush,<br>And the ground behind them is strewn with white petals;<br>They swirl round a corner,<br>And jar a bee out of a Canterbury bell;<br>They cast their shadows for an instant<br>Over a bed of pansies,<br>Catch against the spurs of a columbine,<br>Jostle the quietness from a cluster of monk's-hood.<br>Pat! Pat! behind them come the little criss-cross shoes,<br>And the blue and pink sashes stream out in flappings of colour.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Stella sings:<br>'Hoop, hoop,<br>Roll along,<br>Faster bowl along,<br>Hoop.<br>Slow, to the turning,<br>Now go! - Go!<br>Quick!<br>Here's the stick.<br>Rat-a-tap-tap it,<br>Pat it, flap it.<br>Fly like a bird or a yellow-backed bee,<br>See how soon you can reach that tree.<br>Here is a path that is perfectly straight.<br>Roll along, hoop, or we shall be late.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Minna sings:<br>'Trip about, slip about, whip about<br>Hoop.<br>Wheel like a top at its quickest spin,<br>Then, dear hoop, we shall surely win.<br>First to the greenhouse and then to the wall<br>Circle and circle,<br>And let the wind push you,<br>Poke you,<br>Brush you,<br>And not let you fall.<br>Whirring you round like a wreath of mist.<br>Hoopety hoop,<br>Twist,<br>Twist.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tap! Tap! go the hoop-sticks,<br>And the hoops bowl along under a grape arbour.<br>For an instant their willow whiteness is green,<br>Pale white-green.<br>Then they are out in the sunshine,<br>Leaving the half-formed grape clusters<br>A-tremble under their big leaves.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I will beat you, Minna,' cries Stella,<br>Hitting her hoop smartly with her stick.<br>'Stella, Stella, we are winning,' calls Minna,<br>As her hoop curves round a bed of clove-pinks.<br>A humming-bird whizzes past Stella's ear,<br>And two or three yellow-and-black butterflies<br>Flutter, startled, out of a pillar rose.<br>Round and round race the little girls<br>After their great white hoops.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Suddenly Minna stops.<br>Her hoop wavers an instant,<br>But she catches it up on her stick.<br>'Listen, Stella!'<br>Both the little girls are listening;<br>And the scents of the garden rise up quietly about them.<br>'It's the chaise! It's Father!<br>Perhaps he's brought us a book from Boston.'<br>Twinkle, twinkle, the little criss-cross shoes<br>Up the garden path.<br>Blue - pink - an instant, against the syringa hedge.<br>But the hoops, white as stripped willow-wands,<br>Lie in the grass,<br>And the grasshoppers jump back and forth<br>Over them.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Battledore and Shuttlecock</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The shuttlecock soars upward<br>In a parabola of whiteness,<br>Turns,<br>And sinks to a perfect arc.<br>Plat! the battledore strikes it,<br>And it rises again,<br>Without haste,<br>Winged and curving,<br>Tracing its white flight<br>Against the clipped hemlock-trees.<br>Plat!<br>Up again,<br>Orange and sparkling with sun,<br>Rounding under the blue sky,<br>Dropping,<br>Fading to grey-green<br>In the shadow of the coned hemlocks.<br>'Ninety-one.' 'Ninety-two.' 'Ninety-three.'<br>The arms of the little girls<br>Come up - and up -<br>Precisely,<br>Like mechanical toys.<br>The battledores beat at nothing,<br>And toss the dazzle of snow<br>Off their parchment drums.<br>'Ninety-four.' Plat!<br>'Ninety-five.' Plat!<br>Back and forth<br>Goes the shuttlecock,<br>Icicle-white,<br>Leaping at the sharp-edged clouds,<br>Overturning,<br>Falling,<br>Down,<br>A nd down,<br>Tinctured with pink<br>From the upthrusting shine<br>Of Oriental poppies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The little girls sway to the counting rhythm;<br>Left foot,<br>Right foot.<br>Plat! Plat!<br>Yellow heat twines round the handles of the battledores,<br>The parchment cracks with dryness;<br>But the shuttlecock<br>Swings slowly into the ice-blue sky,<br>Heaving up on the warm air<br>Like a foam-bubble on a wave,<br>With feathers slanted and sustaining.<br>Higher,<br>Until the earth turns beneath it;<br>Poised and swinging,<br>With all the garden flowing beneath it,<br>Scarlet, and blue, and purple, and white -<br>Blurred colour reflections in rippled water -<br>Changing - streaming -<br>For the moment that Stella takes to lift her arm.<br>Then the shuttlecock relinquishes,<br>Bows,<br>Descends;<br>And the sharp blue spears of the air<br>Thrust it to earth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Again it mounts,<br>Stepping up on the rising scents of flowers,<br>Buoyed up and under by the shining heat.<br>Above the foxgloves,<br>Above the guelder-roses,<br>Above the greenhouse glitter,<br>Till the shafts of cooler air<br>Meet it,<br>Deflect it,<br>Reject it,<br>Then down,<br>Down,<br>Past the greenhouse,<br>Past the guelder-rose bush,<br>Past the foxgloves.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Ninety-nine,' Stella's battledore springs to the impact.<br>Plunk! Like the snap of a taut string.<br>'Oh! Minna!'<br>The shuttlecock drops zigzagedly,<br>Out of orbit,<br>Hits the path,<br>And rolls over quite still.<br>Dead white feathers,<br>With a weight at the end.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Garden Games</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The tall clock is striking twelve;<br>And the little girls stop in the hall to watch it,<br>And the big ships rocking in a half-circle<br>Above the dial.<br>Twelve o'clock!<br>Down the side steps<br>Go the little girls,<br>Under their big round straw hats.<br>Minna's has a pink ribbon,<br>Stella's a blue,<br>That is the way they know which is which.<br>Twelve o'clock!<br>An hour yet before dinner.<br>Mother is busy in the still-room,<br>And Hannah is making gingerbread.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Slowly, with lagging steps,<br>They follow the garden-path,<br>Crushing a leaf of box for its acrid smell,<br>Discussing what they shall do,<br>And doing nothing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Stella, see that grasshopper<br>Climbing up the bank!<br>What a jump!<br>Almost as long as my arm.'<br>Run, children, run.<br>For the grasshopper is leaping away,<br>In half-circle curves,<br>Shuttlecock curves,<br>Over the grasses.<br>Hand in hand, the little girls call to him:<br>'Grandfather, grandfather gray,<br>Give me molasses, or I'll throw you away.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The grasshopper leaps into the sunlight,<br>Golden-green,<br>And is gone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Let's catch a bee.'<br>Round whirl the little girls,<br>And up the garden.<br>Two heads are thrust among the Canterbury bells,<br>Listening,<br>And fingers clasp and unclasp behind backs<br>In a strain of silence.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">White bells,<br>Blue bells,<br>Hollow and reflexed.<br>Deep tunnels of blue and white dimness,<br>Cool wine-tunnels for bees.<br>There is a floundering and buzzing over Minna's head.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Bend it down, Stella. Quick! Quick!'<br>The wide mouth of a blossom<br>Is pressed together in Minna's fingers.<br>The stem flies up, jiggling its flower-bells,<br>And Minna holds the dark blue cup in her hand,<br>With the bee<br>Imprisoned in it.<br>Whirr! Buzz! Bump!<br>Bump! Whiz! Bang!<br>BANG!!<br>The blue flower tears across like paper,<br>And a gold-black bee darts away in the sunshine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'If we could fly, we could catch him.'<br>The sunshine is hot on Stella's upturned face,<br>As she stares after the bee.<br>'We'll follow him in a dove chariot.<br>Come on, Stella.'<br>Run, children,<br>Along the red gravel paths,<br>For a bee is hard to catch,<br>Even with a chariot of doves.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tall, still, and cowled,<br>Stand the monk's-hoods;<br>Taller than the heads of the little girls.<br>A blossom for Minna.<br>A blossom for Stella.<br>Off comes the cowl,<br>And there is a purple-painted chariot;<br>Off comes the forward petal,<br>And there are two little green doves,<br>With green traces tying them to the chariot.<br>'Now we will get in, and fly right up to the clouds.<br>Fly, Doves, up in the sky,<br>With Minna and me,<br>After the bee.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Up one path,<br>Down another,<br>Run the little girls,<br>Holding their dove chariots in front of them;<br>But the bee is hidden in the trumpet of a honeysuckle,<br>With his wings folded along his back.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The dove chariots are thrown away,<br>And the little girls wander slowly through the garden,<br>Sucking the salvia tips,<br>And squeezing the snapdragons<br>To make them gape.<br>'I'm so hot,<br>Let's pick a pansy<br>And see the little man in his bath,<br>And play we're he.'<br>A royal bath-tub,<br>Hung with purple stuffs and yellow.<br>The great purple-yellow wings<br>Rise up behind the little red and green man;<br>The purple-yellow wings fan him,<br>He dabbles his feet in cool green.<br>Off with the green sheath,<br>And there are two spindly legs.<br>'Heigho!' sighs Minna.<br>'Heigho!' sighs Stella.<br>There is not a flutter of wind,<br>And the sun is directly overhead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Along the edge of the garden<br>Walk the little girls.<br>Their hats, round and yellow like cheeses,<br>Are dangling by the ribbons.<br>The grass is a tumult of buttercups and daisies;<br>Buttercups and daisies streaming away<br>Up the hill.<br>The garden is purple, and pink, and orange, and scarlet;<br>The garden is hot with colours.<br>But the meadow is only yellow, and white, and green,<br>Cool, and long, and quiet.<br>The little girls pick buttercups<br>And hold them under each other's chins.<br>'You're as gold as Grandfather's snuff-box.<br>You're going to be very rich, Minna.'<br>'Oh-o-o! Then I'll ask my husband to give me a pair of garnet earrings<br>Just like Aunt Nancy's.<br>I wonder if he will.<br>I know. We'll tell fortunes.<br>That's what we'll do.'<br>Plump down in the meadow grass,<br>Stella and Minna,<br>With their round yellow hats,<br>Like cheeses,<br>Beside them.<br>Drop,<br>Drop,<br>Daisy petals.<br>'One I love,<br>Two I love,<br>Three I love I say . . .'<br>The ground is peppered with daisy petals,<br>And the little girls nibble the golden centres,<br>And play it is cake.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A bell rings.<br>Dinner-time;<br>And after dinner there are lessons.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Amy+Lowell">Amy Lowell</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=343646" data-title="A Roxbury Garden de Amy Lowell" data-description="I

Hoops

Blue and pink sashes,
Criss-cross shoes,
Minna and Stella run out into the garden
To play at hoop.

Up and down the garden-paths they race,
In the yellow sunshine,
Each with a big round hoop
White as a stripped willow-wand.

Round and ro..."></div>
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