He sat for hours on the bank that day,
With a serious look--most fishermen’s way,--
Just a waif of a lad with a brimless hat,
And pantaloons even much worse than that.
Dangling legs, without stockings on,
Showed many a mark of brier and thorn,
But indifferent he to trifles like these,
As he sat and fished in the teasing breeze.
I paused as I passed on my way to town,
And set for a moment my burden down:
“Aren’t you discouraged,” I said with zest,
“Fishing so long here without success?”
“Oh, no! such fishing just pleases me,”
The lad said slowly, “for don’t you see,
We can’t all catch--and I for one,
In just _a-trying_ get lots of fun!”
I picked up my burden and walked away,
Wise with the lesson I’d learned that day,
And silently blessed my new-found seer,--
This ragged, fishing philosopher!