O, I love to hear the frogs
When they first begin to sing;
How they vocalize the bogs,
And vociferate the Spring.
How they carrol as they croak,
How they mingle jest and joke
With their solemn chant and dirge
On the river's slimy verge.
O, I love to hear the frogs,
For their monotone uncouth
Is the music of the cogs
Of the mill wheel of my youth.
And I listen half asleep,
And the eyes of mem'ry peep
Through the bars that hold me fast,
From the pleasures of the past.
O, I love to hear the frogs,
For their melody is health
To the heart that worry flogs
With the lash of want or wealth.
And the cares of life take wing,
And its pleasures lose their sting,
And love's channel way unclogs
In the croaking of the frogs.
Harry Edward Mills, 1901
