Sun and Rain

STUMPS. . . And the shoutings wane.
   Honor to those who tried,
But the sun and the rain
Have triumphed again;
   And a valiant side --
   Old England's pride --
Have fought to a finish in vain,
Suffered the stress and the strain,
   Struggled with hope denied
By the luck of the sun and the rain.

LUCK . . . But they never complain.
   Since ever the coin was spun
Luck, in disdain,
Brought sun and rain --
   A match begun
   With the blistering sun
Beating on body and brain,
All to the batsmen's gain;
   Then, with the innings done,
Comes the unkindly rain.

THUS do the Fates ordain;
   So have the fortunes swung.
But the sun and the rain --
That ruthless twain
   That poets have sung
   Since the world was young --
Here have they been a bane,
Bringing defeat in their train --
   A toss; a call that was vain;
And the rest with the sun and the rain.

ASHES . . . For both . . . But the pain
   Of defeat has left no blight,
No sullying stain;
And cricket again --
   As they praise aright 
   The victor's might --
Is king; and the way is plain,
When he comes once more to reign,
   To wish them a valiant fight
And the luck of that fickle twain,
The sun and the rain.