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Cricket follows me everywhere!

Discussion in 'Cricket Discussion' started by stephencox32, Aug 2, 2018.

  1. stephencox32 Club Captain

    stephencox32
    Joined:
    Jul 29, 2017
    National Team:
    England
    Domestic Team:
    Durham
    Was visiting a former seminary yesterday (I get out and about you know!) and came across this piece of poetry from one of the former students there:
     

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    DrewBi said thanks for this.
  2. DrewBi Club Cricketer

    DrewBi
    Joined:
    Nov 24, 2016
    National Team:
    Domestic Team:
    New south Wales Blues
    Location:
    Lismore, NSW, Australia
    Here is the whole poem:

    It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk,
    Though my own red roses there may blow;
    It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk,
    Though the red roses crest the caps, I know.
    For the field is full of shades as I near a shadowy coast,
    And a ghostly batsman plays to the bowling of a ghost,
    And I look through my tears on a soundless-clapping host
    As the run stealers flicker to and fro,
    To and fro:

    O my Hornby and my Barlow long ago !
    It's Glo'ster coming North, the irresistible,
    The Shire of the Graces, long ago!
    It's Gloucestershire up North, the irresistible,
    And new-risen Lancashire the foe!
    A Shire so young that has scarce impressed its traces,
    Ah, how shall it stand before all-resistless Graces ?
    O, little red rose, their bats are as maces
    To beat thee down, this summer long ago !
    This day of seventy-eight they are come up north against thee
    This day of seventy-eight long ago!
    The champion of the centuries, he cometh up against thee,
    With his brethren, every one a famous foe!
    The long-wiskered doctor, that laugheth the rules to scorn,
    While the bowler, pitched against him, bans the day he was born;
    And G.F. with his science makes the fairest length forlorn;
    They are come from the West to work thee woe!
    It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk,
    Though my own red roses there may blow;
    It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk,
    Though the red roses crest the caps, I know.
    For the field is full of shades as I near a shadowy coast,
    And a ghostly batsman plays to the bowling of a ghost,
    And I look through my tears on a soundless-clapping host
    As the run stealers flicker to and fro,
    To and fro:
    O my Hornby and my Barlow long ago !



    Not long before his death and long after he had watched Hornby and Barlow bat at Old Trafford, Thompson was invited to watch Lancashire play Middlesex at Lord's. As the day of the match grew closer, Thompson became increasingly nostalgic. At the end, he did not go for the match, but sat at home and wrote
    At Lord's.

    The first stanza of the poem has contributed the titles of at least two books on cricket.

    Screen Shot 2019-01-09 at 7.25.05 pm.png Francis Thompson in 1877

    I couldn't find out what year this poem was from but it would have been between 1893 and 1907.
     
    zimrahil said thanks for this.

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