Classic Poem

Lady who beneath my window bats the balls about the court,
Shouting in your loud hysteria at the glory of the sport,
Shouting " Ready, " " Thirty forty, "
" That was good, " and " What's the score? "
Waking me, unless it's raining, at exactly 7:04:

Lady, as I look this morning at your wide and ample frame,
Moving slowly and ineptly as you try to play the game,
" Though your strength, " I muse, " is little, though your tennis skill is scant,
That, to you, is unmomentous; yours is but the wish to bant. "

Mine the hope you'll be successful if that be the goal you seek;
Mine the wish — if it be yours — you'll drop a dozen pounds a week.
Lady, as I lie and listen, comes mine earnest wish for you:
Just a shadow's what I hope the game of tennis wears you to.

Lady who beneath my window bats the balls about the court,
Shouting in your loud hysteria at the glory of the sport,
Shouting " Ready, " " Thirty forty, "
" That was good, " and " What's the score? "
Waking me, unless it's raining, at exactly 7:04:

Lady, as I look this morning at your wide and ample frame,
Moving slowly and ineptly as you try to play the game,
" Though your strength, " I muse, " is little, though your tennis skill is scant,
That, to you, is unmomentous; yours is but the wish to bant. "

Mine the hope you'll be successful if that be the goal you seek;
Mine the wish — if it be yours — you'll drop a dozen pounds a week.
Lady, as I lie and listen, comes mine earnest wish for you:
Just a shadow's what I hope the game of tennis wears you to.