The Moose charges,
Crashing its great antlers
In warning before
Burying the hunter
In the bog.
Not as quick
Are the rats,
Biting through the crib;
Insignificant,
But festering
To infection
And death in pus.
The great beasts
Are gone
And the marshes
Dammed for mosquito control;
Yet the rats keep pace
With man so well,
Swelling with our debris.
The heroes are gone
With the kings they defied,
The sword and the fetter
Have gone-- thanks be !
But men still drown
Beneath lily plants,
Beating at the croaking frogs,
The waltzing mice,
Leaders and lemmings
That put men there.