TIME was, my William, when I had vivacity; Or ever came this sanguinary strife, Mine was a crescent, widening capacity For what is not infrequently called Life. Time was when every afternoon fair-weathery I might be found, from spring to early fall, Observing hurlers chuck the spheroid leathery— In brief, I loved to watch a game of ball. Senescent am I now, and full of youthlessness; And at your Hunnish head I cast the blame: Since you established @3schrecklichkeit@1, or ruthlessness, I haven't gone to see a single game. And since your savage, terrible portentousness Began to affright the celebrated world, I've failed to feel a fraction of momentousness In how or in by whom the pill is hurled. Sue then for peace! And let the skies be fair again! The Polo Grounds' most ardent, eager tenant Was I. ... And, William, how I yearn to care again About such things as who will win the pennant! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SEAGULL by HERBERT BASHFORD THE SONG OF HER by WILLIAM ROSE BENET BRADDAN VICARAGE by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN THE HAPPY HOUR by MARY FRANCES MARSHALL BUTTS THINKING OF SAINTS AND OF PETRONIUS ARBITHE by MARY BUTTS (1890-1937) ON WORKS OF MERCY AND COMPASSION; PROOFS OF TRUE RELIGION by JOHN BYROM MASQUE AT THE MARRIAGE OF THE LORD HAYES: FLORA SPEAKS by THOMAS CAMPION |