Winter 1946 • Vol. VIII No. 1 Poetry |

A Song of a Frog – For an Aging Lady

If there's no song she can singOf youthful lover, or with any otherBurden of matter in motion, to smotherThe pain of madam's remembrance of spring,She must seek her a symbol in a quieter thing. The flat and forsaken spraddleOf a frog's skin on macadamIs a thing that can straddle,If she will, a dimension for madamHer legs cannot now inform. For madam's feet when movingEven in winter are warmWith bearing of madam, provingInconstant the flesh, but with no harmTo its formal repose the frog's feet are flinging. Unwilful and fixed and dried,In bodiless motion of springing,Far from the ditches it criedIn at spring, at her call can come singingMost sweetly to madam the frog. In spring the spring can be figuredIn mortal frogs in a watery bog,But firm on this higher ground, and liguredFor straddling time, the frogIs spring quite staunch and transfigured.

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Madrigal

By John Edward Hardy

If there's no song she can singOf youthful lover, or with any otherBurden of matter in motion, to smotherThe pain of madam's remembrance of spring,She must seek her a symbol […]

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