THE SMILE OF THE SEA-KINGS.
(A reflection on the recent Amateur Golf Championship at Sandwich suggested by a study of the illustrated papers.)
They swung with the accurate grace of the clockwork at Greenwich;
Their brassies unswervingly held to the line of the pegs;
Their chip-shots came down on the greens and mistook them for spinach,
And stopped like poached eggs;
Not theirs the desire for the sandpit, not theirs the inadequate legs.
Or if over they failed to lie moribund, dauntless the heroes
Stooped down to impossible putts for a half or a win,
Stooped down in voluminous knickers and all sorts of queer hose