Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/The Frogs

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For works with similar titles, see The Frogs.
Poems, Volume II by Florence Earle Coates
The Frogs



THE perfect eloquence of silence; then,
 Amid the softened afterglow,
From each bay-bordered island fen
 On either hand, distinct but low—
 Was it the twang of strings ? . . .
 O'erhead there is a whirr of homing wings,
And silence falls again.

But now—ah, timely,—the choragus! Hark!
 Leader of choric minstrels grim,
Grave his solemnity: and mark
 What eerie voices follow him
 As strophe and antistrophe
 Swell to the roar of a far-sounding sea,
Out of the marshy dark!

Can these, indeed, be voices, that so greet
 The twilight still? I seem to hear
Oboe and cymbal in a rhythmic beat
 With bass-drum and bassoon; their drear
 And droll crescendo louder growing,
 Then falling back, like waters ebbing, flowing,—
Back to the silence sweet!