When Tulips Bloom

I When tulips bloom in Union Square,

And timid breaths of vernal air Go 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 to sunset skies Beyond the hills where green trees grow;

Then wearly 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.

II 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?

II 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 mush I'm wishing to go a-fishing In days so sweet with music's balm!

IV '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: 'Tis all I'm wishing—old-fashioned fishing,

And just a day on Nature's heart.