You may talk of stylish raiment, You may boast your broadcloth fine, And the price you gave in payment May be treble that of mine. But there's one suit I'd not trade you Though it's shabby and it's thin, For the garb your tailor made you: That's the tattered, Mud-bespattered Suit that I go fishing in. There's no king in silks and laces And with jewels on his breast, With whom I would alter places. There's no man so richly dressed Or so like a fashion panel That, his luxuries to win, I would swap my shirt of flannel And the rusty, Frayed and dusty Suit that I go fishing in. 'Tis an outfit meant for pleasure; It is freedom's raiment, too; It's a garb that I shall treasure Till my time of life is through. Though perhaps it looks the saddest Of all robes for mortal skin, I am proudest and I'm gladdest In that easy, Old and greasy Suit that I go fishing in. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO E. T.: 1917 by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS [JANUARY 8, 1815] by THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH DEATH OF STONEWALL JACKSON by HENRY LYNDEN FLASH THE LIVING TEMPLE by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES ENVOY, TO 'MORE SONGS FROM VAGABONDIA' by RICHARD HOVEY |