Twice a week the winter thorough Here stood I to keep the goal: Football then was fighting sorrow For the young man's soul. Now in Maytime to the wicket Out I march with bat and pad: See the son of grief at cricket Trying to be glad. Try I will no harm in trying: Wonder 'tis how little mirth Keeps the bones of man from lying On the bed of earth. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WIDOW AT WINDSOR by RUDYARD KIPLING A PROPHECY by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR ERRING IN COMPANY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS A HOUSE IN FESTUBERT by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN NIAGARA by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |