Who am I but the Frog--the Frog! <br />My realm is the dark bayou, <br />And my throne is the muddy and moss-grown log <br />That the poison-vine clings to-- <br />And the blacksnakes slide in the slimy tide <br />Where the ghost of the moon looks blue. <br /> <br />What am I but a King--a King!-- <br />For the royal robes I wear-- <br />A scepter, too, and a signet-ring, <br />As vassals and serfs declare: <br />And a voice, god wot, that is equaled not <br />In the wide world anywhere! <br /> <br />I can talk to the Night--the Night!-- <br />Under her big black wing <br />She tells me the tale of the world outright, <br />And the secret of everything; <br />For she knows you all, from the time you crawl, <br />To the doom that death will bring. <br /> <br />The Storm swoops down, and he blows--and blows,-- <br />While I drum on his swollen cheek, <br />And croak in his angered eye that glows <br />With the lurid lightning's streak; <br />While the rushes drown in the watery frown <br />That his bursting passions leak. <br /> <br />And I can see through the sky--the sky-- <br />As clear as a piece of glass; <br />And I can tell you the how and why <br />Of the things that come to pass-- <br />And whether the dead are there instead, <br />Or under the graveyard grass. <br /> <br />To your Sovereign lord all hail--all hail!-- <br />To your Prince on his throne so grim! <br />Let the moon swing low, and the high stars trail <br />Their heads in the dust to him; <br />And the wide world sing: Long live the King, <br />And grace to his royal whim!<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-frog-9/
