Dedication
to
Ferris Greenslet
of
Ipswich, Massachusetts
The trout that haunts the Beaverkill
Will flick the same sarcastic tail,
When badly struck, as him my skill
Would vainly lure from Tweed or Kale.
The same old tremor of the Spring
Assails the heart of you and me;
Nor does the reel less blithely ring
By Willowemoc than by Dee.
As bright the Ammonoosuc streams
Dance through their silent scented woods
As those which fill my waking dreams
In Hebridean solitudes.
Your land, old friend, is one with mine,
Whate’er may hap from time or tide,
While, with St. Izaak the Divine,
We worship at the waterside.