With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore.

’Twas the night before Polo, when all through the grounds,
Not a creature was stirring, not even the hounds.
The mallets were stacked by the stables with care,
In hopes that the championship soon would be there.

The spectators nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of champagne danced round in their heads;
And mama in her linen, and I in my straw,
Had just settled down for a pre-match hurrah —

When out on the turf there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my seat to see what was the matter.
Away to the grandstand I flew like a flash,
To watch the elite of the summer crowd dash.

The moon on the breast of the new-mown green grass
Gave a luster of midday to all that would pass,
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a thundering team in their luxury gear,

With a dashing young rider, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he’d pull off the trick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

“Now, Pegasus! Now, Lightning! Now, Diamond and Star!
On, Victory! On, Comet! We’ve traveled so far!
To the edge of the field! To the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up toward the goalposts the horses they flew
With a trailer of mallets, and the polo champ too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the lawn
The stamping and pawing of hooves in the dawn.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the field the young star came ahead with a bound.

He was dressed all in white, from his head to his boot,
And not one blade of turf had dared muddy the suit;
A bundle of mallets he’d slung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes — how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
The divots were flying from field to the ferry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up in a smile
As he rode down the field with immaculate style.

The ball, when he struck it, flew out like a flame,
And the crowd rose in white for the win of the game;
He had a broad face and a competitive heart,
And he played like an expert right from the start.

He was focused and fast, a right jolly top seed,
And I laughed when I saw him, admiring his speed;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his play,
And scored the last goal to secure the big day;
Then laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the standings he rose.

He sprang to his saddle, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle;
But I heard him exclaim, ere he rode out of sight —
“Happy Polo to all, and to all a good night!”