You are here

قراءة كتاب The Golfer's Rubaiyat

تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"

‏اللغة: English
The Golfer's Rubaiyat

The Golfer's Rubaiyat

تقييمك:
0
No votes yet
المؤلف:
دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
الصفحة رقم: 1



image


title page


copyright


image

The Golfer’s Rubáiyát

I

WAKE! for the sun has driven in equal flight
The stars before him from the Tee of Night,
And holed them every one without a Miss,
Swinging at ease his gold-shod Shaft of Light.


image

II

WAKE, Loiterer! for already Dawn is seen
With her red marker on the eastern Green,
And summons all her Little Ones to change
A joyous Three for every sad Thirteen.


image

III

AND as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The first Tee murmur’d: “Just this chance to score,
You know how little while we have to play,
And, once departed, may return no more.”


image

IV

NOW the fresh Year, reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
Pores on this Club and That with anxious eye,
And dreams of Rounds beyond the Rounds of Liars.


image

V

CAMPBELL indeed is past with all his Fame,
And old Tom Morris now is but a name;
But many a Jamie by the Bunker blows,
And many a Willie rules us, just the same.


image

VI

A THOUSAND lips are lockt; but still in hoar
High-balling Andrew’s Shrine, with “Fore, fore, fore!
Oh, fore!” the Golfer to the Duffer cries,
That reddened cheek of his to redden more.


image

VII

COME, choose your Ball, and in the fire of Spring
Your Red Coat, and your wooden Putter fling;
The Club of Time has but a little while
To waggle, and the Club is on the swing.


image

VII

WHETHER at Musselburgh or Shinnecock,
In motley Hose or humbler motley Sock,
The Cup of Life is ebbing Drop by Drop,
Whether the Cup be filled with Scotch or Bock.


image

IX

EACH Morn a thousand Matches brings, you say;
Yes, but who plays the Match of Yesterday?
And this first Summer month of opening Greens
Shall take this Championship and That away.


image

X

WELL, let it take them! What have we to do
With Championships, or, Champion, with you?
Let This or Other struggle as he will,
For him alone the Strife—for him to rue.


image

XI

WITH me along the strip of sandy Down
That just divides the Desert from the sown,
Where name of Shop and Study is forgot,—
And Peace to Croker on his golden Throne!


image

XII

A BAG of Clubs, a Silver-Town or two,
A Flask of Scotch, a Pipe of Shag—and Thou
Beside me caddying in the Wilderness—
Ah, Wilderness were Paradise enow.


Pages