Pitchers and catchers on thursday!
Of cartons filled with chocolates newly pack’d?
Or dinners of caviar and Cabernet,
And moonlit walks with starlets who attract?
Nay, on love’s day my diamonds will be those
In sunny Southern ballparks; and they’ll shine
With exploits of this season’s Carmine Hose,
From pitching mound to farthest foul-ball line.
You may believe my soul most tempest-tossed
To dwell on sports, and Venus’ child ignore,
And think that in my mind, love’s labour’s lost
When I shun Cupid for a baseball score.
Yet you can keep your flow’r and chocolate-box;
Your rose is not as red as Boston’s Sox.