Francis Thompson

(16 December 1859 – 13 November 1907 / Preston, England)

At Lord's - Poem by Francis Thompson

It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk,
Though my own red roses there may blow;
It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk,
Though the red roses crest the caps, I know.
For the field is full of shades as I near the shadowy coast,
And a ghostly batsman plays to the bowling of a ghost,
And I look through my tears on a soundless-clapping host
As the run-stealers flicker to and fro,
To and fro: -
O my Hornby and my Barlow long ago!


Comments about At Lord's by Francis Thompson

  • (1/10/2018 2:46:00 AM)


    A marvellous evocation of cricket, life and death, appreciated by an exiled Lancastrian (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • (12/6/2017 3:11:00 PM)


    better read by a man (Report) Reply

  • (7/19/2008 5:11:00 AM)


    This is only the 1st stanza, where's the rest? (Report) Reply

Read all 3 comments »



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Read poems about / on: red, rose, running



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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