IN SPRING
Grass begins to grow,
Winds to be more civil,
Rollers press the pitch
For to make it level:
Thrushes pipe a stave
In the budding thicket;
Snowdrops point to pads,
Crocuses to Cricket!
Soon will stand the Slip
Crouching for a capture;
Soon the slogger slog
Fours and fives in rapture!
Soon the curly lob
Find its love, the wicket;
Snowdrops point to pads,
Crocuses to Cricket!
Urchins in the road
Bowl with oblong pebbles,
Sending to each mate
Bursts of happy trebles:
In the words of slang,
Summer is the ticket!
Snowdrops point to pads,
Crocuses to Cricket!
UP AT LORDS
When Stoddart makes her hum,
Up at Lords,
Till the bowler bites his thumb,
Up at Lords,
How the Middlesex supporters
Turn vociferous exhorters
As he jumps on Lockwood's Snorters,
Up at Lords!
When Stoddart makes her hum
Up at Lords,
And my country cousins come
Up at Lords
With their looks as sweet as honey,
And their exclamations funny,
I am prodigal of money
Up at Lords!
When Stoddart makes her hum
Up at Lords,
And the Surrey Skipper's glum
Up at Lords,
Oh! all my odds are even,
And (I hope to be forgiven)
'Tis a truly Cricket Heaven
Up at Lords!