top of page

the poetry of fly fishing


joyce kilmer


Two anglers on a Laker on Kennebago Lake

Homer, they tell us, was blind and could not see the beautiful faces Looking up into his own and reflecting the joy of his dream, Yet did he seem Gifted with eyes that could follow the gods to their holiest places.


I have no vision of gods, not of Eros with love-arrows laden, Jupiter thundering death or of Juno his white-breasted queen, Yet I have seen All of the joy of the world in the innocent heart of a maiden.

bottom of page