When The Brook Trout Leaps

The slender dew-tipped grasses are trembling in the breeze,
The east is blushing rosy red beneath the Sun’s caress,
The wild rose bends to kiss the stream—but only Nature sees,
And the reed-harps play weird music just above the water cress.
The quail is calling loudly where the tangled bushes grow,
The startled frogs are diving, and the noisy blackcaress bird scolds.
The stealthy rat is hunting where the deeper waters flow,
And the bees are sipping honey that the wild plum’s blossom holds.
The air is overladen with the wild-flowers’ fragrant scent’
The morning star is fading’ and the sharp-eyed night owl sleeps;
Myriad birds are singing to the stream’s accompaniment
And the world is full of gladness—when the brook trout leaps.