"Fishing", by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

[med_cat]

Fishing

Maybe this is fun, sitting in the sun,
With a book and parasol, as my Angler wishes,
While he dips his line in the ocean brine,
Under the impression that his bait will catch the fishes.

'Tis romantic, yes, but I must confess
Thoughts of shady rooms at home somehow seem more inviting.
But I dare not move- 'Quiet, there, my love!'
Says my Angler, 'for I think monster fish is biting.'
Oh, of course it's bliss, but how hot it is!
And the rock I'm sitting on grows harder every minute;
Still my fisher waits, trying various baits,
But the basket at his side I see has nothing in it.

Oh, it's just the way to pass a July day,
Arcadian and sentimental, dreamy, idle, charming,
But how fierce the sunlight falls! and the way the insect crawls
Along my neck and down my back is really quite alarming.
'Any luck?' I gently ask of the angler at his task,
'There's something pulling at my line,' he says; 'I've almost caught it.'
But when, with blistered face, we our homeward steps retrace,
We take the little basket just as empty as we brought it.

(Ella Wheeler Wilcox)

Comments

[duathir.livejournal.com]

I do remember it after all; thank you.

Fishing and not catching is bad enough, but watching someone else do it is worse.

[med_cat]

You're welcome :) Yes, I thought you likely had seen it before; I'd posted it to my LJ last summer, too.

And yes, I imagine it must be; never tried either fishing or accompanying someone who wen fishing ;)

[duathir.livejournal.com]

I have fished, long ago. It is all right when the fish are biting, but the grocery store has all the fish I need.

[med_cat]

Makes sense :)