Yes—air and sound, low child of earth!
For these are oft the things
That give a name its greatest worth,
Its gorgeous plumes and wings.
But do not shun me thus, and hop
Affrighted from my way.
Dismiss thy terrors—turn, and stop;
And hear what I may say.
Meek, harmless thing, afraid of man?
This truly should not be.
Then calmly pause, and let me scan
My Maker’s work in thee.
For both of us to him belong;
We ’re fellow-creatures here;
And power should not be armed with wrong,
Nor weakness filled with fear.
I know it is thy humble lot
To burrow in a hole—
To have a form I envy not,
And that without a soul.
In motion, attitude and limb
I see thee void of grace;
And that a look supremely grim,
Reigns o’er thy solemn face.
But thou for this art not to blame;
Nor should it make us load
With obloquy, and scorn, and shame
The honest name of Toad.
For, though so low on nature’s scale—
In presence so uncouth,
Thou ne’er hast told an evil tale
Of falsehood, or of truth.
Thy thoughts are ne’er on malice bent—
Nor hands to mischief prone;
Nor yet thy heart to discontent;
Though spurned, and poor and lone.
No coveting nor envy burns
In thy bright golden eye,
That calm and innocently turns
On all below the sky.