Norman Rowland Gale (Норман Гейл)
‘Duck’
When the Doctor pulls up as you pass in the street
You know he will say:--
'Well, Rogers, I hear that you suffered defeat--
How many to-day?
Not a hundred, I fear; but you always do well,
And doubtless you stuck?'
It is hard to admit that you could not excel
A 'duck.'
For the bowling was easy, the wicket was true,
And had it not been
That you thought the slow trundler was guilty of _screw_
You had driven it clean!
How galling to read in the _Sportsman_ next day--
What horrible luck!--
'H. Rogers (the Captain) caught Grinstead, bowled May,
A "duck."'
But 'tis worse when your Uncle and sweet Cousin Bell
Come over to watch
All your wonderful deeds as a very great Swell--
The hope of the match!
And Bell asks your score with a traitorous smile.
More knowing than Puck;
And you say (looking straight in her eyes all the while)
A 'duck.'
But when Fogson, your rival, makes Four after Four,
And Three after Three,
And next a grand drive, that adds six to his score,
Right over the tree,
Bell's eyes with excitement delightedly flash--
She praises his pluck!
So you think that the worst of emphatical trash
Is 'duck.'
Norman Rowland Gale’s other poems:
