We seldom were quick off the mark, And sprinting was never our game; But when it's insistence and hold-for-the-distance, We've never been beat at that same. The first lap was all to the Hun, At the second we still saw his back; But we knew how to wait and to spurt down the straight, Till we left him dead-beat on the track. He's a bluffer for all he is worth, But he's winded and done to the core, So the last lap is here, with the tape very near, And the old colours well to the fore. Not merry! No—the words would grate, With gaps at every table-side, But chastened, thankful, calm, sedate, Be your victorious Christmas-tide. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FELICIA HEMANS by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON THE 'MONSTRE' BALLOON by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM VERSES ON SEEING IN AN ALBUM A SKETCH OF AN OLD GATEWAY by BERNARD BARTON LOVE POEMS: 11 by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE by ROBERT BROWNING SONNET TO - -. by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT |