The Athlete's Garland: A Collection of Verse of Sport and Pastime

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A. C. McClurg & Company, 1905 - English poetry - 245 pages

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Page 155 - Ah! what avail the largest gifts of heaven, " When drooping health and spirits go amiss? " How tasteless then whatever can be given! " Health is the vital principle of bliss,
Page 118 - There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night — Ten to make and the match to win — A bumping pitch and a blinding light, An hour to play and the last man in. And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat, Or the selfish hope of a season's fame, But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote — '- > '• ' ' Play up ! play up ! and play the game...
Page 235 - Shoulder-high we bring you home. And set you at your threshold down, Townsman of a stiller town. Smart lad, to slip betimes away From fields where glory does not stay.
Page 170 - He who surpasses or subdues mankind, Must look down on the hate of those below. 400 Though high above the sun of glory glow, And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow Contending tempests on his naked head, And thus reward the toils which to those summits led.
Page 43 - Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip. And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air, And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there. Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped; "That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one,
Page 206 - Maiden's tower, And easy sighs, such as folk draw in love. The stately seats, the ladies bright of hue. The dances short, long tales of great delight; With words and looks, that tigers could but rue; Where each of us did plead the other's right.
Page 44 - Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright; The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light; And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout: But there is no joy in Mudville — mighty Casey has struck out.
Page 37 - And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky, Whereunder crawling coop'd we live and die, Lift not your hands to It for help — for It As impotently moves as you or I.
Page 235 - To an Athlete Dying Young The time you won your town the race We chaired you through the market-place; Man and boy stood cheering by, And home we brought you shoulder-high. To-day, the road all runners come, 5 Shoulder-high we bring you home, And set you at your threshold down, Townsman of a stiller town.
Page 120 - The waves as they arose, and prouder still The loftier they uplifted me ; and oft, In wantonness of spirit, plunging down Into their green and glassy gulfs, and making My way to shells and sea-weed, all unseen By those above, till they...

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