POETRY.
OXFORD IN WAR TIME.
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UNDER the tow-path past the bargee Never an eight goes flashing by ; Never a blatant coach on the merge is Urging his crew to-do or die; Never the critic we knew enlarges, Fluent, on How and Why I
Once by the Iffiey Road November Welcomed the Football men aglow, Covered with mud, as you'll remember,
Eager to vanquish Oxford's foe :
Where are the teams of last December P Gone—where they had to go I
Where are her sons who waged at Cricket Warfare against the Iceman-friend P Far from the Parke, on a Larder wicket,
Still they attack and still defend ; Playing a greater game, they'll stick it, Fearless until the end!
Oxford's goodliest children leave her, Hastily thrusting books aside ; Still the hurrying weeks bereave her, Filling her heart with joy and pride; Only the thought of you can grieve her, You who have fought and died.
W. SNOW.
• This donstioo has been sent dkeet to the Control Volunteer Trebling Corp..
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