Explore "A Lay of the Links" by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It's up and away from our work to-day, / For the breeze sweeps over the down; / And it's hey for a game where the gorse blossoms flame, / And the bracken is bronzing to brown. / With the turf 'neath our tread and the blue overhead, / And the song of the lark in the whin; / There's the flag and the green, with the bunkers between- / Now will you be over or in?
The doctor may come, and we'll teach him to know / A tee where no tannin can lurk; / The soldier may come, and we'll promise to show / Some hazards a soldier may shirk; / The statesman may joke, as he tops every stroke, / That at last he is high in his aims; / And the clubman will stand with a club in his hand / That is worth every club in St. James'.