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 wallA little thing that plays at ball.