1分あたりの単語数
12
Typist_4507063
00:00
速度
See it, the beautiful ball
Poised in the toyshop window, Rounder than sun or moon.
Is it red? is it blue? is it violet?
It is everything we desire, And it does not exist at all.
Non-existent and beautiful? Quite.
In the rounding leap of our hands, In the longing hush of air, We know what that ball could be, How its blues and reds could spin To a headier violet.
Beautiful in the mind
Like a word we are waiting to hear, That ball is construed, but lives Only in flash of flight, From the instant of release To the catch in another's hand.
And the toy withheld is the token Of all who refrain from play-The shopkeepers, the collectors
Like Queen Victoria,
In whose adorable doll's house
Nothing was ever broken.