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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=507019" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The City of Golf</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Would you like to see a city given over, <br>Soul and body, to a tyrannising game? <br>If you would, there's little need to be a rover, <br>For St. Andrews is the abject city's name. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is surely quite superfluous to mention, <br>To a person who has been here half an hour, <br>That Golf is what engrosses the attention <br>Of the people, with an all-absorbing power. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Rich and poor alike are smitten with the fever; <br>Their business and religion is to play; <br>And a man is scarcely deemed a true believer, <br>Unless he goes at least a round a day. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The city boasts an old and learned college, <br>Where you'd think the leading industry was Greek; <br>Even there the favoured instruments of knowledge <br>Are a driver and a putter and a cleek. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">All the natives and the residents are patrons <br>Of this royal, ancient, irritating sport; <br>All the old men, all the young men, maids and matrons -- <br>The universal populace, in short. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the morning, when the feeble light grows stronger, <br>You may see the players going out in shoals; <br>And when night forbids their playing any longer, <br>They tell you how they did the different holes. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Golf, golf, golf -- is all the story! <br>In despair my overburdened spirit sinks, <br>Till I wish that every golfer was in glory, <br>And I pray the sea may overflow the links. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">One slender, struggling ray of consolation <br>Sustains me, very feeble though it be: <br>There are two who still escape infatuation, <br>My friend M'Foozle's one, the other's me. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">As I write the words, M'Foozle enters blushing, <br>With a brassy and an iron in his hand .... <br>This blow, so unexpected and so crushing, <br>Is more than I am able to withstand. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So now it but remains for me to die, sir. <br>Stay! There is another course I may pursue -- <br>And perhaps upon the whole it would be wiser -- <br>I will yield to fate and be a golfer too!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Fuller+Murray">Robert Fuller Murray</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=507019" data-title="The City of Golf de Robert Fuller Murray" data-description="Would you like to see a city given over, 
Soul and body, to a tyrannising game? 
If you would, there's little need to be a rover, 
For St. Andrews is the abject city's name. 

It is surely quite superfluous to mention, 
To a person who has been he..."></div>
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