Fishmg in North Carolina. 69 



FISHING. 



A youth beside the water sits, 



The noonday sun is warmly beaming; 

 His nose and neck are turkey red, 



His eye with radiant hope is gleaming. 

 He watches close the bobbing cork 



Advance upon the tiny billows ; 

 A jerk, and a swish, and high above 



He lands a sucker in the willows. 



That's fishing. 



A fair maid trips the tennis court, 



A dozen eyes admire her going ; 

 Her black-and-yellow hat band burns 



A hole through the sunset's glowing ; 

 She drives the ball across the net 



And into hearts consumed with wishing 

 She drives a dart from Cupid's bow. 



She'll land a sucker, too. 



She's fishing. 



So, whether the game be fish or men, 



The bait be kisses, worms or blushes 

 The place at home by sunny pool. 



Or tennis ground at evening hushes, 

 'Tls the old game the serpent played 



With Mother Eve in Eden's bowers, 

 And Adam's sons and daughters all 



Will love the sport to time's last hours. 

 That's fishing. 



— The Asian. 



