When in disgrace and with no fortune in men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heavens with, “Where is my baseball?”
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Looking like him with friends possessed,
Desiring that ballplayer’s skill with bat and glove,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply, I think on thee, oh, baseball, and then my mood
(Like a lark at the break of day arising
From sullen earth) I sing hymns at heaven’s gate;
For my sweet love of the game such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.