UNDER the tow-path past the barges Never an eight goes flashing by; Never a blatant coach on the marge is Urging his crew to do or die; Never the critic we knew enlarges, Fluent, on How and Why! Once by the Iffley Road November Welcomed the Football men aglow, Covered with mud, as you'll remember, Eager to vanquish Oxford's foe. Where are the teams of last December? Gone—where they had to go! Where are her sons who waged at cricket Warfare against the foeman-friend? Far from the Parks, on a harder wicket, Still they attack and still defend; Playing a greater game, they'll stick it, Fearless until the end! Oxford's goodliest children leave her, Hastily thrusting books aside; Still the hurrying weeks bereave her, Filling her heart with joy and pride; Only the thought of you can grieve her, You who have fought and died. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: LAMBERT HUTCHINS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS NAMING FOR LOVE by HAYDEN CARRUTH WORDS IN A CERTAIN APPROPRIATE MODE by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE COLOR SERGEANT by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON VERY EARLY SPRING by KATHERINE MANSFIELD |