Cricket Is A Serious Thing

In politics theres room for jest;
With frequent gibes are speeches met,
And measures which are of the best
Are themes for caustic humor yet.
Een though the pulpiteer we fret
With sundry quiddities we fling,
We pray you never to forget
That cricket is a serious thing.

The crowd assembles at a Test,
And Hobbs at length is fairly set,
Though Gregory rocks em in with zest;
The barrackers may fume and fret
When Parkin has contrived to get
Five men of ours, we feel the sting,
And give expression to regret,
For cricket is a serious thing.

They have the lead; we would arrest
A sort of rot.No epithet
Is proper, though theyve got our best
For next to nothing, and your bet
Is good as lost.Dont sit and sweat;
Due reverence to the problem bring.
We have a pile of runs to net,
Ah, cricket is a serious thing.

Edward

Edward Dyson was a versatile Australian writer and poet known for his prose and poetry that vividly depicted the lives and experiences of miners and working-class people in Australia. Born on March 4, 1865, in Ballarat, Victoria, Dyson worked in various manual labor roles in the mining industry before turning to writing. His works often drew from his firsthand experiences and offered a unique perspective on the struggles and triumphs of everyday Australians. Dyson passed away on August 22, 1931.

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Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Cricket.

O the gayest of musicians! O the gladdest thing on earth,
With its piping and its chirping, is the cricket on the hearth!
There is magic in the music that he flings us with such zest:
"Love's the only wealth that's lasting - who cares aught for all the rest?
Never mind though ill-luck dog you, never mind though times are hard,
Have you not the wife and bairns?" chirps the sweet, insistent bard -
Chirps and chirps, until you heed him, till your heart is all aglow -
"Love's the only wealth that's lasting, home's a bit of heaven below."
O the gayest of musicians! O the gladdest thing on earth,
With his piping and his chirping, is the cricket on the hearth!

Jean Blewett

A Lay Of The Links

It's up and away from our work to-day,
For the breeze sweeps over the down;
And it's hey for a game where the gorse blossoms flame,
And the bracken is bronzing to brown.
With the turf 'neath our tread and the blue overhead,
And the song of the lark in the whin;
There's the flag and the green, with the bunkers between -
Now will you be over or in?

The doctor may come, and we'll teach him to know
A tee where no tannin can lurk;
The soldier may come, and we'll promise to show
Some hazards a soldier may shirk;
The statesman may joke, as he tops every stroke,
That at last he is high in his aims;
And the clubman will stand with a club in his hand
That is worth every club in St. James'.

The palm and the leather come rarely together,
Gripping the driv...

Arthur Conan Doyle

Lawn Tennis in the Temple Gardens

    Not in contempt but to our sport inclined
    Smile on us, shades of Judges short and tall
    Portrayed on windows of the Temple Hall;
    There was a time that ye grave thoughts resigned,
    Then, warm with sack, the Serjeants' hearts waxed kind,
    In mirth Lords Keepers danced the galliard all,
                                                Not in contempt.

    Of pleasures past the shadows here we find,
    Gay strife on brighter swards we thus recall,
    Where maiden laughter winged the flying ball;
    Declare us, fair ones, with a merry mind
                                                Not in contempt.

James Williams

The Cricket

Here is a tale for those who sing with reason:
There was a cricket, troubadouring fellow,
Who chirped his lay, or zoomed it like a 'cello,
Day in, day out, no matter what the season.
Great was his love for his own violining;
He never wearied saying, "What performing!"
And oft, when through, would ask, "Was not that charming?"
Then play it over, right from the beginning.
A talent, such as his, should be rewarded,
So thought he, all unconscious of intention
Of any one among the violin sects,
Until by some one, lo, he was regarded;
Lifted, examined; given special mention;
And placed within a case with other insects.

Madison Julius Cawein

A Friendly Game Of Football

We were challenged by The Dingoes , they're the pride of Squatter's Gap,
To a friendly game of football on the flat by Devil's Trap.
And we went along on horses, sworn to triumph in the game,
For the honour of Gyp's Diggings, and the glory of the same.

And we took the challenge with us. It was beautiful to see,
With its lovely curly letters, at its pretty filigree.
It was very gently worded, and it made us all feel good,
For it breathed the sweetest sentiments of peace and brotherhood.

We had Chang, and Trucker Hogan, and the man who licked The Plug,
Also Heggarty, and Hoolahan, and Peter Scott, the pug;
And we wore our knuckle-dusters, and we took a keg on tap
To our friendly game of football with The Dingoes at The Gap.

All the fellows came to meet us, and we ...

Edward

My Cricket.

Farther in summer than the birds,
Pathetic from the grass,
A minor nation celebrates
Its unobtrusive mass.

No ordinance is seen,
So gradual the grace,
A pensive custom it becomes,
Enlarging loneliness.

Antiquest felt at noon
When August, burning low,
Calls forth this spectral canticle,
Repose to typify.

Remit as yet no grace,
No furrow on the glow,
Yet a druidic difference
Enhances nature now.

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson