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REFLECTED GLORY
Timothy and I, we are capital companions,
Glad to be together, with a thousand tales to tell
Full of fun belonging to the various grades of Cricket,
Schoolboy, Town Club, Country House, and even Dingley Dell.
Fondly we remember how a pair of horses drew us,
Village after village, on our way to find a green
Dotted with the canvas tents that served as gay reminders
Of England's simple fashion when her Ruler was a Queen.
Glad to be together, with a thousand tales to tell
Full of fun belonging to the various grades of Cricket,
Schoolboy, Town Club, Country House, and even Dingley Dell.
Fondly we remember how a pair of horses drew us,
Village after village, on our way to find a green
Dotted with the canvas tents that served as gay reminders
Of England's simple fashion when her Ruler was a Queen.
Timothy and I, we are heart-to-heart companions
Bending over Long Ago to welcome in our zest
Rural Deans with ponytraps and chubby farmers bringing
A rivalry of lasses to adorn the local Test.
Rambling down the bygone, we recall how Billy Farmer
Scored a chimneypot-and-six one day at Horsted Keynes,
Where Sheffield Park in person, highly tickled by the damage,
Presented half a sovereign to the Slogger for his pains.
Bending over Long Ago to welcome in our zest
Rural Deans with ponytraps and chubby farmers bringing
A rivalry of lasses to adorn the local Test.
Rambling down the bygone, we recall how Billy Farmer
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Where Sheffield Park in person, highly tickled by the damage,
Presented half a sovereign to the Slogger for his pains.
Timothy and I, we are cronies in a corner,
Turning over records of the days of win and lose.
Here we dote on what we did when supple in the Twenties,
Here at times a hand steals down in fancy to a bruise.
Surrey, Kent, and Sussex were the playing grounds when summer
Freckled us and bronzed us in our passion for The Game.
Bursting into Father's room to tell of laurels gathered
Forcibly as batsmen or as bowlers—that was fame!
Turning over records of the days of win and lose.
Here we dote on what we did when supple in the Twenties,
Here at times a hand steals down in fancy to a bruise.
Surrey, Kent, and Sussex were the playing grounds when summer
Freckled us and bronzed us in our passion for The Game.
Bursting into Father's room to tell of laurels gathered
Forcibly as batsmen or as bowlers—that was fame!
Timothy and I, in the hours of recollection,
Hear the shift of harness creaking noisy in a lane;
Note the yellowhammer with his little nervous sallies
Disappear in greenery, to come to sight again.
Pleasant was the journey to the creases of our foemen,
Pleasanter the homeward ride, with Mother at the gate
Fluttering her handkerchief, and wearying to kiss us,
And asking what on earth had kept her pair of boys so late.
Hear the shift of harness creaking noisy in a lane;
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Disappear in greenery, to come to sight again.
Pleasant was the journey to the creases of our foemen,
Pleasanter the homeward ride, with Mother at the gate
Fluttering her handkerchief, and wearying to kiss us,
And asking what on earth had kept her pair of boys so late.
Timothy and I, we are mellow in the thewless
Wintering of muscle that has faded from the prime.
Down with black behaviour! for to envy lads upholding
England at the block-hole is to tweak the nose of Time.
Innings after innings was permitted, and he gave us
Verve in double handfuls, till he had no more to spare.
Now he nods goodhumouredly to athletes of remembrance
Snug upon a hearthrug. How we bless him for his care!
Wintering of muscle that has faded from the prime.
Down with black behaviour! for to envy lads upholding
England at the block-hole is to tweak the nose of Time.
Innings after innings was permitted, and he gave us
Verve in double handfuls, till he had no more to spare.
Now he nods goodhumouredly to athletes of remembrance
Snug upon a hearthrug. How we bless him for his care!
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