Now is the time for the luring fly
Spring is awake and the waters high,
Hackle and Doctor and Montreal,
Bend to your cast that a king may die.
Armed with a gaff and a clicking reel,
High jack-boots and an empty creel,
A yard of gut, a split bamboo,
Beginner's luck and a fisherman's zeal.
Over the hills at the rise of day,
Through a sea of mist when the world is grey
I hie me down to the river's bend,
Where the shadows gloom and the ripples play.
Then all the length of an afternoon,
The light reel sings to a thrilling tune,
Till the basket sags with the speckled trout,
And I wander home by an April moon.