HE DOESN'T play the game for glory, And he doesn't play the game for golden pelf— He plays it just because he likes the pastime, And (perhaps) because he has the chance to strut himself. He stops the whizzing liners with his meat-hand, He stops the grounders with his beardless chin, And ever and anon some other youngster Comes sliding down and spikes him on the shin. He takes long chances that a big league veteran Would never risk for fifteen thousand bones, And he believes he's well-paid if his cutie Applauds him in her shrill and piping tones! And, even then, it's half a chance he loses— The crowd may cheer his doings with a shout, But when he's going best, his little cutie Won't even know what it is all about! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...REVELRY OF THE DYING by BARTHOLOMEW DOWLING ONE'S-SELF I SING by WALT WHITMAN EPISTLES ON THE CHARACTER AND CONDITION OF WOMEN: 1 by LUCY AIKEN THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT COMPENSATION by MARY BEALE CARR ALL FOR LOVE, OR THE WORLD WELL LOST: PROLOGUE by JOHN DRYDEN LINDY-GRAMS: 2. LINDY FLEW by OLIVER MURRAY EDWARDS |