The Trout Poem by Christian Friedrich Daniel Schubart

In a clear brooklet in happy haste
The impulsive trout dashed past like an arrow.
I stood on the bank and watch in sweet repose
The bath of the lively small fish in the clear brooklet.
The bath of the lively small fish in the clear brooklet.

A fisherman with his rod stood on the bank
And saw cold-bloodedly how the fish was turning around
So long as the water stays clear, I thought,
He won’t catch the trout with his fishing rod.
He won’t catch the trout with his fishing rod.

At last the thief became impatient.
He made the stream muddy maliciously
And I thought, his rod quivered
The fish, the fish was wriggling on it,
And I, with my blood boiling, looked at the duped,
And I, with my blood boiling, looked at the duped.