This poem by Ralph McMillin was published in the early-20th century, and you can sense the time period in the tone and language of the piece. I like the juxtaposition of the cool escape of evening baseball against the harsher daytime responsibilities of work or school.

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I
The great stand’s massive horseshoe towers
And casts its shadow o’er the field,
The clean-cut base paths carve the sward,
An emerald diamond on a shield;
Across the glossy sheen—
The verdant stretching green—
Lazy, the bleachers rise,
Gaunt frames against the skies.
Daily I labor here,
Labor to cry and cheer,
Closing my eyes, look back
Along the winding track,
And see, dim set there in the year’s gray haze,
The tree-fringed diamond of my boyhood days.

II
The maple trees that lined the road,
The meadow stretching to the stream;
The deep worn sunken pitcher’s box,
Each measured white stone base a-gleam,
Planted at ev’ry turn,
Your bare, bruised feet to burn;
There in the evening’s cool
Respite from field or school,
Sacred to Saturday’s
Scroll of tremendous frays;
There where the hills looked down,
Guarding the nestling town,
First came the Vision, pointing out the way,
The dream of Big League diamonds far away.