When Tulips Bloom

When tulips bloom in Union Square,And timid breaths of vernal airGo wandering down the dusty town,Like children lost in Vanity Fair;

When every long, unlovely rowOf westward houses stands aglow,And leads the eyes to sunset skiesBeyond the hills where green trees grow;

Then weary seems 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 nowAre creeping out on every boughAlong the brook; and robins lookFor 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 flameThe Dandelion Show's begun.

The flocks of young anemonesAre dancing round the budding trees:Who can help wishing to go a-fishingIn days as full of joy as these?

I think the meadow-lark's clear soundLeaks upward slowly from the ground,While on the wing the bluebirds ringTheir wedding-bells to woods around.

The flirting chewink calls his dearBehind 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 calmThe hermit-thrush repeats his psalm.How much I'm wishing to go a-fishingIn 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 dartFrom foaming pools, and try my art:'Tis all I'm wishing--old-fashioned fishing,And just a day on Nature's heart.