Poem by Norman Rowland Gale

The Golden Game

  If ever there was a Golden Game
    To brace the nerves, to cure repining,
  To put the Dumps to flight and shame,
    It's Cricket when the sun is shining!
  Gentlemen, toss the foolscap by,
    Gentlemen, change from books to leather!
  Breathe your fill of the breeze from the hill,
    Thanking Bliss for the great blue weather.

  If ever there was a bag could beat
    The box possessed by Miss Pandora,
  'Tis that in which there cuddle neat
    The tools to shape the flying Fourer.
  Gentlemen, watch the purple ball!
    Gentlemen, keep your wits in tether!
  Take your joy with the heart of a boy
    Under the dome of the big blue weather.

  If ever I feel my veins abound
    With zealous blood more fit for Twenty,
  'Tis when upon the shaven ground
    Fair Fortune gives me runs in plenty.
  Gentlemen all, while sinews last,
    Bat ye, bowl ye, friends together!
  Play the play till the end of your day,
    Mellowest mates in the big blue weather!

  But ever the ancient tale is told,
    And History (the jade!) repeated:
  By Time, who's never over-bowled,
    At last we find ourselves defeated.
  Gentlemen all, though stiff we be,
    Youth comes along in finest feather,
  Just as keen as we all have been
    Out on the turf in the great blue weather!

  There's ever the deathless solace left--
    To gaze at younger heroes smiting,
  Of neither grit nor hope bereft,
    Up to the end for victory fighting.
  Gentlemen all, we taste delight,
    Banished now from the stream and heather,
  Calm and cool on an old camp-stool,
    Watching the game in the big blue weather!

1. Dark Blue
2. Cricket and Cupid
3. Up at Lords
4. The Church Cricketant
5. On the Spot

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