A. E. Housman — Twice a week the winter thorough

                  XVII          Twice a week the winter thorough          Here stood I to keep the goal: Football then was fighting sorrow          For the young man's soul.          Now in May time to the wicket          Out I march with bat and pad: See the son of grief at cricket          Trying to be glad.          Try I will; no harm in trying:          Wonder 'tis how little mirth Keeps the bones of man from lying          On the bed of earth.