Each morning before daybreak I go fishing,
Yet not for fish, but as a kind of wishing,
A mental exercise of reeling in
Ideas and images that might begin
A line of verse which plays out to its end,
Whereby I might some notion apprehend.
Discovery is the aim of such a sport,
Toward which gay rhymes and rhythms both cavort,
Though who knows where such frolic may conclude,
Except in fun—a jolly interlude.