PRELUDE

AN ANGLER'S WISH IN TOWN

When tulips bloom in Union Square, And timid breaths of vernal airAre wandering down the dusty town, Like children lost in Vanity Fair;

When every long, unlovely row Of westward houses stands aglowAnd leads the eyes toward sunset skies, Beyond the hills where green trees grow;

Then weary is the street parade, And weary books, and weary trade:I'm only wishing to go a-fishing; For this the month of May was made.

I guess the pussy-willows now Are creeping out on every boughAlong the brook; and robins look For early worms behind the plough.

The thistle-birds have changed their dun For yellow coats to match the sun;And in the same array of flame The Dandelion Show's begun.

The flocks of young anemones Are dancing round the budding trees:Who can help wishing to go a-fishing In days as full of joy as these?

I think the meadow-lark's clear sound Leaks upward slowly from the ground,While on the wing the bluebirds ring Their wedding-bells to woods around:

The flirting chewink calls his dear Behind the bush; and very near,Where water flows, where green grass grows, Song-sparrows gently sing, "Good cheer:"

And, best of all, through twilight's calm The hermit-thrush repeats his psalm:How much I'm wishing to go a-fishing In days so sweet with music's balm!

'Tis not a proud desire of mine; I ask for nothing superfine;No heavy weight, no salmon great, To break the record, or my line:

Only an idle little stream, Whose amber waters softly gleam,Where I may wade, through woodland shade, And cast the fly, and loaf, and dream: Only a trout or two, to dart From foaming pools, and try my art:No more I'm wishing--old-fashioned fishing, And just a day on Nature's heart.

1894.