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; 



* * * 



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. 



* * * 



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! 



'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: 



Only an idle little stream, 

 Whose amber waters softly gleam, 



Where I may wade in woodland shade, 

 And cast the fly, and loaf, and dream: 



Only a trout ot 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. 



HENRY VAN DYKE 



From '''Poems of Henry van Dyke" by kind permission of 

 Charles Scribners Sons 



