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a reflection on how little joy it took as a youth to keep from being completely overwhelmed by the sadness of life, and a resolution to keep trying for that kind of happiness that combats sorrow.
XVII
Twice a week the winter thorough
Here stood I to keep the goal:
Football then was fighting sorrow
For the young man's soul.
Now in May time to the wicket
Out I march with bat and pad:
See the son of grief at cricket
Trying to be glad.
Try I will; no harm in trying:
Wonder 'tis how little mirth
Keeps the bones of man from lying
On the bed of earth.