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.

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.

1894.

 THE WHIP-POOR-WILL

 Do you remember, father,— It seems so long ago,— The day we fished together Along the Pocono? At dusk I waited for you, Beside the lumber-mill, And there I heard a hidden bird That chanted, “whip-poor-will,” “Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!” Sad and shrill,—“whippoorwill!”

Do you remember, father,—

It seems so long ago,—

The day we fished together

Along the Pocono?

At dusk I waited for you,

Beside the lumber-mill,

And there I heard a hidden bird

That chanted, “whip-poor-will,”

“Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!”

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