Sir Henry Newbolt Poems >>
Vita? Lampada

There’s a breathless hush in the Close to-night —
Ten to make and the match to win —
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
And it’s not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season’s fame,
But his Captain’s hand on his shoulder smote
“Play up! play up! and play the game!”

The sand of the desert is sodden red, —
Red with the wreck of a square that broke; —
The Gatling’s jammed and the colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed his banks,
And England’s far, and Honour a name,
But the voice of schoolboy rallies the ranks,
“Play up! play up! and play the game!”

This is the word that year by year
While in her place the School is set
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame,
And falling fling to the host behind —
“Play up! play up! and play the game!”

(Sir Henry Newbolt)

More Poetry from Sir Henry Newbolt:

• Fidele's Grassy Tomb (Sir Henry Newbolt Poems)
• Admirals All (Sir Henry Newbolt Poems)
• Craven (Sir Henry Newbolt Poems)
• A Song Of Exmoor (Sir Henry Newbolt Poems)
• Commemoration (Sir Henry Newbolt Poems)
• Admiral Death (Sir Henry Newbolt Poems)

Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:

• A Dead Letter (Henry Austin Dobson Poems)
• The Bards Who Lived at Manly (Henry Lawson Poems)
• The Desirable Undefined (Jared Barhite Poems)
• A Poetical Version Of A Letter From Facob Behmen (John Byrom Poems)
• Prometheus-Christ (John Boyle O Reilly Poems)