A Frog’s Fate

Contemptuous of his home beyond The village and the village-pond, A large-souled Frog who spurned each byeway Hopped along the imperial highway.

Nor grunting pig nor barking dog Could disconcert so great a Frog. The morning dew was lingering yet, His sides to cool, his tongue to wet: The night-dew, when the night should come, A travelled Frog would send him home.

Not so, alas! The wayside grass Sees him no more: not so, alas! A broad-wheeled waggon unawares Ran him down, his joys, his cares. From dying choke one feeble croak The Frog’s perpetual silence broke: – “Ye buoyant Frogs, ye great and small, Even I am mortal after all! My road to fame turns out a wry way; I perish on the hideous highway; Oh for my old familiar byeway!”

The choking Frog sobbed and was gone; The Waggoner strode whistling on. Unconscious of the carnage done, Whistling that Waggoner strode on – Whistling (it may have happened so) “A froggy would a-wooing go.” A hypothetic frog trolled he, Obtuse to a reality.

O rich and poor, O great and small, Such oversights beset us all. The mangled Frog abides incog, The uninteresting actual frog: The hypothetic frog alone Is the one frog we dwell upon.