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 throng
Expounded with vigor the charm of his song:
To the droll moon was croaking its notions of rime.
And puffy with pride each wight in the throng
Expounded 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.
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."
"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."
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."
Praise not the slime, but its fruitage, the lily."
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