The
city angler now o’ nights
When he goes home to rest,
Instead
of loafing by the fire
Is diving in his chest
To
pull his fancy tackle out
To put it in repair;
For
April First is looming up,
And trout are in the air.
He
sees the brooklet winding down
Through meadows growing green;
He
hears the roaring of the falls –
His appetite is keen.
He
fondles his old trusty rod,
And tries his lines with care;
For
fishing time is looming up,
And trout are in the air.
O’
angler, of the wather heart!
We know just how you feel.
We
know it thrills you through and through,
The music of the reel.
O’
may you realize your dream;
And get your lawful share;
We
hope the trout you fain to land
Won’t be all in the air!
March
25, 1913
For
Thursday the 27, ‘13
wather – This is a best guess
on the handwritten word. It is an Irish form of ‘water’.
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