AN ANGLER'S WISH IN TOWN
When tulips bloom in Union Square, And timid breaths of vernal air Are wandering down the dusty town, Like children lost in Vanity Fair;When every long, unlovely row Of westward houses stands aglow And 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 bough Along 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?
