The speaker remembers a game she played with flowers, treating them like delicate dancers at a ball. Yellow daisies, rainbow morning-glories, and pale grand lilies aren’t just blossoms — they’re partners in a graceful, old-fashioned minuet. She sees them holding out their dainty skirts, bowing among the grasses, and moving shadowy hand in hand. It’s a moment of pure imagination, where the garden turns into a ballroom.
The mood is light and whimsical, with a touch of wistfulness. The speaker isn’t just observing; she’s lost in the play, delighting in the way flowers can become anything. The shadowy hands suggest the make-believe is fragile, almost dreamlike, but full of gentle joy. There’s no sadness, only the quiet pleasure of a childlike game that still feels vivid in memory. It’s a reminder that seeing the world with fresh eyes can turn ordinary daisies into performers and a patch of grass into a stage.