When red-nosed Winter takes the road, <br />An icicle his walking-stick, <br />When frost is on the woodman's load, <br />And snow is falling fast and thick, <br />Come, lusty youth and sapless eld, <br />Let's make a circle round the blaze <br />And talk of stumps, <br />Of nasty bumps, <br />That flew and came in sunny days. <br />For Cricket is played again, again, <br />At freezing time in Hull or Bath; <br />When summer's done the game's not gone-- <br />There's Cricket on the Hearth! <br /> <br />Here's Jones from Rugby, Eton Jack, <br />And Grandpapa who, long ago, <br />Loved hitting when the Field was slack, <br />And crumped the bowling, swift or slow! <br />No more he's nimble on the green, <br />But what a history he tells <br />Of Surrey men <br />And hits for ten, <br />And heaps of most tremendous Swells! <br />For Cricket is played again, again, <br />At freezing time in Hull or Bath; <br />When summer's done the game's not gone-- <br />There's Cricket on the Hearth! <br /> <br />The girls may call to Hide-and-Seek, <br />And lovely lasses take the floor; <br />But we discuss the Lob and Sneak, <br />The Canvas, Umpire, Over, Score! <br />How great a game to fill July, <br />May, June, and August with delights, <br />Yet in the frost <br />Be never lost, <br />But stir the blood on nipping nights! <br />For Cricket is played again, again, <br />At freezing times in Hull or Bath; <br />When summer's done the game's not gone-- <br />There's Cricket on the Hearth!<br /><br />Norman Rowland Gale<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cricket-on-the-hearth/
