Poems (Probyn)/Villanelle (I looked across the garden wall)

by May Probyn

For works with similar titles, see Villanelle.

VILLANELLE.

I looked across the garden wall,
 And saw her there—I see her yet!
A little thing that played at ball.

What mattered fright? what mattered fall?
 I climbed—I broke the peach-tree's net—
I looked across the garden wall,

And, curls and pinafore and all,
 Beheld her,—never to forget,—
A little thing that played at ball.

Grave has she grown, discreet and tall,
 Since, when the morning dews were wet,
I looked across the garden wall,—

Since she was five years old, and small,
 With slipping sash all crooked set,
A little thing that played at ball.

But still, sweet wife, when I recall
 How first we loved, how first we met,
I watch across a garden wall
A little thing that plays at ball.