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Edgar Albert Guest 1881 (Birmingham) – 1959 (Detroit, Michigan)

I've trod the links with many a man,
  And played him club for club;
  'Tis scarce a year since I began
  And I am still a dub.
  But this I've noticed as we strayed
  Along the bunkered way,
  No one with me has ever played
  As he did yesterday.
  It makes no difference what the drive,
  Together as we walk,
  Till we up to the ball arrive,
  I get the same old talk:
  "To-day there's something wrong with me,
  Just what I cannot say.
  Would you believe I got a three
  For this hole--yesterday?"

  I see them top and slice a shot,
  And fail to follow through,
  And with their brassies plough the lot,
  The very way I do.
  To six and seven their figures run,
  And then they sadly say:
  "I neither dubbed nor foozled one
  When I played--yesterday!"

  I have no yesterdays to count,
  No good work to recall;
  Each morning sees hope proudly mount,
  Each evening sees it fall.
  And in the locker room at night,
  When men discuss their play,
  I hear them and I wish I might
  Have seen them--yesterday.

  Oh, dear old yesterday! What store
  Of joys for men you hold!
  I'm sure there is no day that's more
  Remembered or extolled.
  I'm off my task myself a bit,
  My mind has run astray;
  I think, perhaps, I should have writ
  These verses--yesterday.

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

1:11 min read

Edgar Albert Guest

Edgar Albert Guest was a British-born American poet who was popular in the first half of the 20th century and became known as the People's Poet. His poems often had an inspirational and optimistic view of everyday life. more…

All Edgar Albert Guest poems | Edgar Albert Guest Books

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    "Yesterday" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 31 Jul 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/8422/yesterday>.

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