Spring Salmon
Patrick Reginald Chalmers
1872 to 1942
It's oh, but I'm dreaming
Of grey water streaming,
Great rivers that go gleaming
Where brown the heather blows,
Ere May's southern graces
Rub out the last white traces
From high and mountain places
Of stubborn, storm-packed snows!
The chill wind that searches
The low-lying birches,
The old red grouse that perches
And swaggers in the sun;
I'm fain for its blowing,
I'm restless for his crowing,
And it's I that would be going
Where the spring salmon run!
And oh, were they bulking
Bright silver, or sulking —
In the snow-broth a-skulking,
I would care not at all,
I'd hear the falls ringing,
I'd see the pine-tops swinging
In a wind that's filled with singing
When the green plover call!
Patrick Reginald Chalmers's Spring Salmon
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