Edward Cracroft Lefroy (1855–1891)

TWO minutes’ rest till the next man goes in!

The tired arms lie with every sinew slack

On the mown grass. Unbent the supple back,

And elbows apt to make the leather spin

Up the slow bat and round the unwary shin,—

In knavish hands a most unkindly knack;

But no guile shelters under this boy’s black

Crisp hair, frank eyes, and honest English skin.

Two minutes only. Conscious of a name,

The new man plants his weapon with profound

Long-practised skill that no mere trick may scare.

Not loth, the rested lad resumes the game:

The flung ball takes one madding tortuous bound,

And the mid-stump three somersaults in air.