From the Evening Star, May 7, 1914. By Philander Johnson.

I watched the gently flowing stream
    Where silver ripples stray.
Beneath the water’s flash and gleam
    I knew the fish would play.
I thought of many a prize to make
    A rare and tempting dish.
I sat and dreamed, though half awake,
    That I was stringin’ fish.

I looked and saw the finny tribe
    Down in the water clear.
Swift circles they would there describe
    And to my hook draw near.
I made full many a fervent wish,
    They romped in graceful glee.
I dreamed that I was stringin’ fish.
    The fish were stringin’ me.