There looms a Day (I can feel it looming;
Yes, it will be in a month or less),
When all the flowers in the world are blooming
And Nature flutters her fairest dress--
Then I, my friends, I too shall wear
A blazer that will make them stare,
And brush--this is official: I shall also brush my hair.

It is the day that I watch for yearly,
Never before has it come so late;
But now I've only a month--no, merely
A couple of fortnights left to wait;
And then (to make the matter plain)
I hold--at last!--a bat again:
Dear Hobbs! the weeks this summer--think! the _weeks_
I've lived in vain!

I see already the first ball twisting
Over the green as I take my stand,
I hear already long-on insisting
It wasn't a chance that came to hand--
Or no; I see it miss the bat
And strike me on the knee, whereat
Some fool, some silly fool at point, says blandly,
"How was that?"

Then, scouting later, I hold a hot-un
At deep square-leg from the local Fry,
And at short mid-on to the village Scotton
I snap a skimmer some six foot high--