Little rivers
By henry van dyke
Prelude
When tulips bloom in union square, and timid breaths of vernal air are wandering sown the dusty town, like children lost in vanity fair.
When every long, unlovely row of westward houses stands aglow and leads the eyes toward sunset skies, beyond the hills where green trees grow.
Then weary is the street parade, and weary books, and weary trade; I’m only wishing to go a-fishing, for this th month of may was made.
I guess the pussy-willows now are creeping out on every bough along the brook..
By henry van dyke
Prelude
When tulips bloom in union square, and timid breaths of vernal air are wandering sown the dusty town, like children lost in vanity fair.
When every long, unlovely row of westward houses stands aglow and leads the eyes toward sunset skies, beyond the hills where green trees grow.
Then weary is the street parade, and weary books, and weary trade; I’m only wishing to go a-fishing, for this th month of may was made.
I guess the pussy-willows now are creeping out on every bough along the brook..