Many Many Moons/Philosophic Frogs
PHILOSOPHIC FROGS
A congress of bullfrogs jowl-deep in the slime,To the droll moon was croaking its notions of rime.And puffy with pride each wight in the throngExpounded with vigor the charm of his song:
"Gr-rump! Gr-rump!" bellowed Green-back, "I sing of the mud; oh, the beautiful, beautiful mud!"And he flopped his big belly—ker-plunk!—in the clay with a heave and a terrible thud.
"Quite r-right! Quite r-right!" rejoined the philosophic band,"Sing of the true, the real, of the common thing at hand."
"Ker-r-r-chug!" piped Yellow-Vest, "I sing of the slimy pond;Eternal Beauty is there, and not in the moons beyond."
"Yer-r r-right!" quoth Plunk, "but don't be silly;Praise not the slime, but its fruitage, the lily."
"Get along-ng-ng! though flowers are sweet," scoffed Blink, "we'll not concede a jot!Vermin nest in the hearts of flowers; all lilies are touched with rot!"
"Jug-o'-r-r-rum!" croaked Puff, "why sing of the stars, so cold, remote, and high!I pray to a closer, warmer light; I sing of the firefly!"
And thus deriding the heavenly host, this tribe with vocal mightAnd philosophic grunt held forth through many a summer night. . .
Autumn marched in with its bluster and blow;And winter rushed down with a whirling of snow.The swamp-world lay dead and th' amphibian choirSlept songless and lean in the beautiful mire,Where the muck-rooted lilies and slender reedsWere a mess of rank rubbish and rotting weeds.And the will-o'-the-wisp, the substitute star,The ideal of Life, of "things as they are,"Curled up his carcass and jerked up his knees,—His lamp flickered out in the first autumn breeze.And the placid old moon widely yawned, slyly blinked;And the stars with a chuckle looked pond-ward, and winked!