where you left your things! And I have had great luck in fishing, arid 

 a great day of sport. "What luck?" say the people leeringly as I 

 pass. "Fine," I answer bravely. "Where are the fish?" they insinu- 

 atingly ask. "I threw them back," I reply. So brave is truth. To 

 refrain from catching the fish is the most delicate and generous way 

 of throwing them back. The fish are there and truth is vindicated; 

 and I go home with my heels on the ground, but my head in the sky 

 and hang my day's fishing up with my fishing pole. And the rose is 

 fragrant yet, and the trees cast their shadows across my face, and the 

 river ripples and flashes brightly a perpetual pleasure. I am glad I 

 went fishing, and had good luck. 



Sweet was the meadow scent, 



And blue the sky, 

 When we a- fishing went, 



My rod and I. 



Cares staid at home in bed 



While we went free; 

 And scurvy care is dead 



To such as we. 



Green was the summer land, 



The air was balm; 

 Fair the bleak pine-trees stand; 



My heart was calm. 



Out on the river 's rim, 



My spirit sings 

 Roundels of praise to Him 



Who summer brings. 



So while fair morning drifts, 



Fishing I go. 

 Down through the green wood's rifts 



Warm sunlights glow. 



Glad laughter takes my hcnd 



And holds it tight, 

 As through this summer land. 

 92 / stray till night. 



