Base-Ball Ballads/On Memory's Wall

by Grantland Rice

 

ON MEMORY'S WALL.

Of all the horrible pictures
 That hang on memory's wall,
Is one of a certain ball game
 That seemeth the worst of all;
Not for the money wasted,
 Counting the coin it cost;
Not that the umpire robbed us,
 Not that the home team lost;
Not that the shortstop fumbled
 Four balls, while I madly cursed,
Nor for the catcher caught like a lobster—
 It seemeth to me the worst.

I once had a little sweetheart
 With eyes that were deep and dark;
Unto that game I took her
 Into the baseball park.
Light as the down of thistles,
 The fielders chased the ball;
Loud as the roar of tempests
 Followed the rooters' call;
And I heard my heart beat loudly
 As our star man came to bat,
When my little sweetheart murmured:
 "Say, look at that woman's hat!"

Loudly the base hit rattled,
 Bringing the tieing score;
Wildly the crowd upstarted,
 Yelping a mighty roar;
Softly there came the whisper,
 Ending my joyous fit:
"Why is that poor man running?
 What is a three-base hit?"
Therefore of all the pictures
 That hang on memory's wall,
That one of a certain ball game
 It seemeth the worst of all.