Gray prinked with rose,

White tipped with blue,

Shoes with gay hose,

Sleeves of chrome hue;

Fluffed frills of white,

Dark bordered light;

Such shimmerings through

Trees of emerald green are eyed

This afternoon, from the road outside.

They whirl around:

Many laughters run

With a cascade's sound;

Then a mere one.

A bell: they flee:

Silence then: —

So it will be

Some day again

With them, — with me.

- Thomas Hardy, 1840-1928