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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=427711" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Dave Lilly</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">There's a brook on the side of Greylock that used to be full of trout,<br>But there's nothing there now but minnows; they say it is all fished out.<br>I fished there many a Summer day some twenty years ago,<br>And I never quit without getting a mess of a dozen or so. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There was a man, Dave Lilly, who lived on the North Adams road,<br>And he spent all his time fishing, while his neighbors reaped and sowed.<br>He was the luckiest fisherman in the Berkshire hills, I think.<br>And when he didn't go fishing he'd sit in the tavern and drink. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Well, Dave is dead and buried and nobody cares very much;<br>They have no use in Greylock for drunkards and loafers and such.<br>But I always liked Dave Lilly, he was pleasant as you could wish;<br>He was shiftless and good-for-nothing, but he certainly could fish. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The other night I was walking up the hill from Williamstown<br>And I came to the brook I mentioned,<br> and I stopped on the bridge and sat down.<br>I looked at the blackened water with its little flecks of white<br>And I heard it ripple and whisper in the still of the Summer night. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And after I'd been there a minute it seemed to me I could feel<br>The presence of someone near me, and I heard the hum of a reel.<br>And the water was churned and broken, and something was brought to land<br>By a twist and flirt of a shadowy rod in a deft and shadowy hand. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I scrambled down to the brookside and hunted all about;<br>There wasn't a sign of a fisherman; there wasn't a sign of a trout.<br>But I heard somebody chuckle behind the hollow oak<br>And I got a whiff of tobacco like Lilly used to smoke. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It's fifteen years, they tell me, since anyone fished that brook;<br>And there's nothing in it but minnows that nibble the bait off your hook.<br>But before the sun has risen and after the moon has set<br>I know that it's full of ghostly trout for Lilly's ghost to get. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I guess I'll go to the tavern and get a bottle of rye<br>And leave it down by the hollow oak, where Lilly's ghost went by.<br>I meant to go up on the hillside and try to find his grave<br>And put some flowers on it -- but this will be better for Dave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Joyce+Kilmer">Joyce Kilmer</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=427711" data-title="Dave Lilly de Joyce Kilmer" data-description="There's a brook on the side of Greylock that used to be full of trout,
But there's nothing there now but minnows; they say it is all fished out.
I fished there many a Summer day some twenty years ago,
And I never quit without getting a mess of a d..."></div>
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