Classic Poem

The moon was up and I was young:
No matter what I dared to write,
But how it woke each sportive tongue
Of little elves that haunt the night!

Though Crickets chanted, “True, true, true!”
The Tree Toads piped, “'Tis not! 'Tis not!”
The Hermit Howlet jeered, “Hoo! hoo!”
And Gaffer Bullfrog blurted, “Rot!”

So, red with wrath, I flung the scrawl
Across the walk—and lo! by day:
The Dew, the truest friend of all,
Had washed those erring lines away.