Back to my line and hook.
I wish I could wade by the water's edge,
Where the fallen leaves drift by;
Just to see, in the shadow of the ledge,
How dark forms glide, like a woodman's wedge,
Through driftwood piles and the coarse marsh sedge,
And to hear the bittern cry.
Back where the tadpoles shift and sink,
Back where the bull-frogs sob;
Back just to float