grass
Leapt the lithe-elbowed Spin, and strongly merged
In scrimmage with the comfortable Wife
And temporary Widow,--know you not,
Such trifles are the merest commonplace
In loftier contours?--Twenty-two in all
They numbered, and none other trod the field
Save one, the bold Sir Referee, whose charge
It was to keep fair order in the lists,
And peace 'twixt Dame and Damsel: married, he.

O brothers, had ye seen them! O the games!
Fleet-footed some: lightly they leapt, and drave
Or missed the pellet; then, perchance, would turn
With hand that sought their tresses. Others moved
Careless, in half disdain, nor urged pursuit;
Yet ever and anon would shriek, and miss
The pellet, while the bold Sir Referee
Skipt in avoidance. From the factions came
The cry of voices shrilling woman-wise,
The clash of stick on stick, the muffled shin,
The sudden whistle, and the murmurous note
Of mutual disaffection. Otherwhere
The myriad coolie chortled, knightly palms
Clapped, and the whole vale echoed to the noise
Of ladies, who in session to the West
Sat with the light behind them, self-approved.

Fortune with equal favour poised the scale,
And loudlier rang the trouble, till I heard
'A Susan! Ho! A Susan!'--She, oh she,
One whom myself had picked from out the crowd
Of hot girl-athletes with their tousled hair,
Was on the ball. Deftly she smote, and drave
On, and so paddled swiftly in its wake.
The good ash gleamed and fell; the forward ranks
Gave passage; once again she smote, again
Paddled, nor passed, but paddling ever neared
The mournful guardian of the Sacred Goal,
Hewing and hacking. Little need to tell
Of Susan in her glory; whom she smote
She felled, and whom she shocked she overthrew;
And, shrieking, passed exultant to her doom.

For Susan, while she clove a devious course,
Moved crab-like, in a strange diagonal,
And, driving, crossed the frontiers. Thither came
The bold Sir Referee, and shrilled abroad
The tremulous, momentary 'touch.' But she,
Heaving with unaccustomed exercise,
Blinded and baffled, wild with all despair,
Stood sweeping, as a churl that sweeps the scythe
In earlier pastures. Twice he skipped, and poured
The desperate whistle. Once again, and he,
Skipping, diffused the whistle. But at last,
So