Base-Ball Ballads/On Memory's Wall
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.