Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By HenryVan Dyke1096 An Anglers Wish
W
And timid breaths of vernal air
Go wandering down the dusty town,
Like children lost in Vanity Fair;
Of westward houses stands aglow,
And leads the eyes towards sunset skies
Beyond the hills where green trees grow,—
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 bough
Along the brook; and robins look
For early worms behind the plough.
For yellow coats, to match the sun;
And in the same array of flame
The dandelion show’s begun.
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 blue-birds ring
Their wedding-bells to woods around.
Behind the bush; and very near,
Where water flows, where green grass grows,
Song-sparrows gently sing, “Good cheer.”
The hermit-thrush repeats his psalm.
How much I ’m wishing to go a-fishing
In days so sweet with music’s balm!
’T is not a proud desire of mine;
I ask for nothing superfine;
No heavy weight, no salmon great,
To break the record—or my line:
Whose amber waters softly gleam,
Where I may wade, through woodland shade,
And cast the fly, and loaf, and dream:
From foaming pools, and try my art:
No more I ’m wishing—old-fashioned fishing,
And just a day on Nature’s heart.