THE FANTOM OF THE LINKS.
By Jessie Pope.
When morning crowns the distant downs
With veil of azure gossam;
When black bat wheels, and twilight steals
The blush from every blossom—
Hist! to a sudden mysterious click,
The caddie shudders and shrinks,
The scarlet-jacketed heart beats thick—
'Tis the fantom of the links.
The first was he on the family tree
Of canny professional laddies,
In Pluto's halls he hungers for balls—
They say he's a weakness for caddies.
Hist! when you feel a thrill in the breeze,
A whisper that rises and sinks,
When there looms a shape by the misty trees—
'Tis the fantom of the links.
Then fly the green tho' fit and keen
To drive like soaring rocket,
You'll search till dark for balls you mark—
They're in his intangible pocket.
Back from the cliff and the shimmering bay,
The dune and the pebble-strewn brinks,
Mortal, you'll get the worst of the play
With the fantom of the links.
When through the gray the dawning day
Slants over gorse and heather,
When sun has set and grass is wet.
And mist-wreaths twine together—
List to a sudden mysterious click,
The caddie shudders and shrinks,
The scarlet-jacketed heart beats thick—
'Tis the fantom of the links.
London Queen.