Cricket on the Village Green
A XANADU POEM
Where are the cricket fields of yesterday?
Where are the players on the village green?
Where’s the stout lad who whacked the ball away
Over the rooftops like you’d never seen?
Where are the dreaming spires, where the gowns
Swishing through ancient cloisters ivy-clad?
Where are the owlish dons in cobbled towns
Quoting their Odyssey and Iliad?
Where are the dear old ladies in long dresses,
Cheering the players on the village green?
They’ve all passed on, we’re told, to new addresses
Where everyone is suitably serene.
Gone to new cricket fields!—God bless them all,
The batsmen and the fielders, the bowlers and the ball.