Cricket
Cricket
(After L. Smart)
A village church-spire watching from nearby; a white,
Red-roofed pavilion shaded by trees. In front,
Upon a close-mown green some pale-clothed cricketers
Performing arcane rituals of Summer days
That mark their English heritage with bat and ball,
With sandwiches and tea.
No need for crowds; no haste
To settle scores within a frenzied hour or so.
Only the beauties of the ancient game: its style
And elegance, its blend of artistry and brawn,
Of spin and speed, of guile and force, of intermixed
Pleasures and pains and unpredictability
Followed by evenings of conviviality.
Wherever Englishmen have made their homes abroad they’ve brought
With them the quintessential character of this rare sport.
