Who is Ernest Lawrence Thayer

Ernest Lawrence Thayer (; August 14, 1863 – August 21, 1940) was an American writer and poet who wrote the poem "Casey" (or "Casey at the Bat"), which is "the single most famous baseball poem ever written" according to the Baseball Almanac, and "the nation’s best-known piece of comic verse—a ballad that began a native legend as colorful and permanent as that of Johnny Appleseed or Paul Bunyan."

Biography

Thayer was born in Lawrence, Massachusetts, and raised in nearby Worcester. He graduated magna cum laude in philosophy from Harvard University in 1885, where he had been editor of the Harvard Lampoon and a member of the theatrical society Hasty Pudding. William Randolph Hearst, a friend from both activities, hired Thayer as humor columnist for The San Francis...
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Ernest Lawrence Thayer Poems

  • Casey At The Bat
    The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day:
    The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
    And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
    A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game....
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Top 10 most used topics by Ernest Lawrence Thayer

Silence 1 Thought 1 Play 1 Single 1 Great 1 Place 1 Deep 1 Human 1 Shore 1 Sun 1


Ernest Lawrence Thayer Quotes

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Comments about Ernest Lawrence Thayer

Maestroclassics: study on "casey at the bat" the famous baseball poem by ernest lawrence thayer
Redfieldaudio: just warming up for baseball season to start march 30th… “casey at the bat” by ernest lawrence thayer listen on
Redfieldstudios: just warming up for baseball season to start march 30th… “casey at the bat” by ernest lawrence thayer listen on
Maestroclassics: study on "casey at the bat" the famous baseball poem by ernest lawrence thayer
Nsharp1955: casey at the bat by ernest lawrence thayer - poems |
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Poem of the day

Ernest Dowson Poem
The Garden Of Shadow
 by Ernest Dowson

Love heeds no more the sighing of the wind
Against the perfect flowers: thy garden's close
Is grown a wilderness, where none shall find
One strayed, last petal of one last year's rose.

O bright, bright hair! O mouth like a ripe fruit!
Can famine be so nigh to harvesting?
Love, that was songful, with a broken lute
...

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