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The Spike: or, Victoria College Review, June 1904



So over, all over: the whistle peals "Time!"
The field lies bare to the last of the light.
Too late to tell what you might have done;
The goal is kicked, and a stronger has won.
To you is only the glow of the fight;
To you is only the soreness and grime.

What matter, so long as you played the game?
What matter, provided you filled your place,
And took the fall, the kick, the blow,
And tackled the foeman clean and low—
Blind sun in your eyes, we wind in your face—
What matter, so met ye the luck as it came?