Classic and Contemporary Poetry
DAVID CLEEK, by SIEGFRIED SASSOON Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: I cannot think that death will press his claim Last Line: To everlasting golf consigns your soul. Subject(s): Golf; Soldiers' Writings; Sports | ||||||||
I CANNOT think that Death will press his claim To snuff you out or put you off your game: You'll still contrive to play your steady round, Though hurricanes may sweep the dismal ground, And darkness blur the sandy-skirted green Where silence gulfs the shot you strike so clean. Saint Andrew guard your ghost, old David Cleek, And send you home to Fifeshire once a week! Good fortune speed your ball upon its way When Heaven decrees its mightiest Medal Day; Till saints and angels hymn for evermore The miracle of your astounding score; And He who keeps all players in His sight, Walking the royal and ancient hills of light Standing benignant at the eighteenth hole, To everlasting Golf consigns your soul. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPORT STORY OF A WINNER by GLYN MAXWELL WOMAN SKATING by MARGARET ATWOOD FISHING IN WINTER by RALPH BURNS CAPPER KAPLINSKI AT THE NORTH SIDE CUE CLUB by HAYDEN CARRUTH JACKIE ROBINSON by LUCILLE CLIFTON FOR THE DEATH OF VINCE LOMBARDI by JAMES DICKEY THE DEATH OF THE RACE CAR DRIVER by NORMAN DUBIE |
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