Читать книгу Little Rivers - Henry Van Dyke - Страница 3

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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?

I think the meadow-lark's clear sound

Leaks upward slowly from the ground,

While on the wing the bluebirds ring

Their wedding-bells to woods around:

The flirting chewink calls his dear

Behind the bush; and very near,

Where water flows, where green grass grows,

Song-sparrows gently sing, "Good cheer:"

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!

'Tis 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, through woodland shade,

And cast the fly, and loaf, and dream:

Only a trout or 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.

1894.