Little Rivers
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?
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