llow has been,
And every emerald Stretch the Fair Green shows
His kindly Tread has known, his sure Play seen.

XX

AND this reviving Herb whose tender green
Muffles the fair white Sphere o'er which we lean,
Ah, curse it gently, for here Jamie once--
Great Jamie--lay, and fetch'd a bad Thirteen.

XXI

AH, my Beloved, play the Round that offers
TO-DAY some joy, whate'er To-morrow suffers:
To-morrow!--why, to-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Duffers.

XXII

AND some we loved, the feeblest with a Club,
Ordain'd to sclaff, to foozle, and to flub,
Have turned in Cards a Round or two before,
And played that final Green without a Rub.

XXIII

AND we that now make merry on the Green
They left, and Summer dresses in new sheen,
Ourselves must we beneath the springing Turf
Add our Ell to the Bunker of Has-been.

XXIV

AH, make the most of what we yet may spend
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust into dust, and under Dust to lie,
Sans Breath, sans Golf, sans Golfer, and--sans End!

XXV

ALIKE for those who for TO-DAY prepare,
And those who after some TO-MORROW stare,
A Keeper from the Links of Darkness cries
Fools, your Reward is neither Here nor There.

XXVI

WHY, all the Toms and Jamies who discuss'd
Of the True Art so wisely--they are thrust
Like foolish prophets forth; their Words to Scorn
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.

XXVII

MYSELF when young did eagerly frequent
Jamie and His, and heard great argument
Of Grip and Stance and Swing; but evermore
Found at the Exit but a Dollar spent.

XXVIII

WITH them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with mine own hand sought to make it grow;
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd--
"You hold it This Way, and you swing it So."

XXIX

PATIENT I fared to many a sacred Spot,
Ev'n at the Shrine of Andrew cast my lot,
And many a Knot unravel'd by the Road;
But not, alas! of Golf the Master-knot.

XXX

THERE was a Green for which I found no Tee,
And a blind Bunker which I might not see:
Out of the distant Dark a Voice cries "Fore!"
And then--and then no more of Thee and Me.

XXXI

AS then the Sparrow for his morning Crumb,
Do thou each Morrow to the First Tee come,
And play thy quiet Round, till crusty Age
Condemn thee to a hopeless Dufferdom.

XXXII

PERPLEXT no more with Where or How or Why,
Thy easy fingers to th