There is a surprisingly large amount of poetry, and other lit., about cricket, but after "Ten to win and the last man in", Francis Thompson's At Lord's is probably the best known, and fortunately it really is wonderful. The first verse is the best known:

It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk,
Though my own red roses there may blow;
It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk,
Though the red roses crest the caps, I know.
For the field is full of shades as I near a shadowy coast,
And a ghostly batsman plays to the bowling of a ghost,
And I look through my tears on a soundless-clapping host
As the run stealers flicker to and fro,
To and fro:
O my Hornby and my Barlow long ago !

There's also a fair amount of cricket music.