The yellow eddy and the sunburnt pool
Are here the same —
The overhanging blackness of the ferny stone
Invites at noon,
The alder tangle hides a kindred finny throng
That veer and idle — dart and disappear.
Down the light gust the gauzy flies
Drop to the stream's clear surface as before —
But though I see the tempting bait
And mean to rise —
I bear a hook within my side.
My brothers flash and fall with jaws set wide —
Alone I glide beneath the mossy stone,
Mad with the pain of yesterday, and wise.

Prince, kill us rather, do not set us free —
Let our long torture shame your angler's art,
What glamour has the Summer day for us, if we
Still bear your hook within our heart?