Ode To Golf – Golf Poetry


DELUSIVE nymph, farewell!
How oft we've said and sung,
When balls elusive fell
Down in the jaws of "Hell,"
Or salt seaweeds among,
'Mid shingle and sea-shell.

How oft beside the "burn,"
We play the sad "two more,"
How often at the turn.
The heather we must spurn;
How oft have topped and swore,
In bent and whin and fern.

Yes, when the broken head
Bounds further than the ball,
The heart has inly bled.
Ah ! and the lips have said
Words we would not recall —
Wild words of passion bred.

In bunkers all unknown.
Far beyond "Walkinshaw,"
Where never ball had flown — •<
Reached by ourselves alone —
Caddies have heard with awe
The music of our moan.

Yet, nymph, if once alone
The ball hath featly fled—
Not smitten from the bone —
That drive doth still atone ;
And one long shot laid dead
Our grief to the winds hath blown.

So still beside the tee.
We meet in storm and calm,
Lady, and worship thee,
While the loud lark sings free,
Piping his matin psalm
Above the grey and sea.

Andrew Lang in Lyrics of the Links, 1921

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