Wishing to go a-fishing

Here are some lines from a poem called An Angler's Wish by Henry Van Dyke (1852-1933) which came to mind as I watched a lone fisherman at sea side. I remember that my Dad used to say "I'm a-wishing to go a-fishing."

When every long, unlovely row

Of westward houses stands aglow,

And leads the eyes towards sunset skies

Beyond the hills where green trees grow,

Then weary seems the street parade,

And weary books, and weary trade:

I'm only wishing to go a-fishing;

For this the month of May was made.