Frogmo! Frogmo! Yawning wide
(or like a stick, withered and dried)
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy awful yellow gape?
I what distant deeps or skies
Was glazed the ogle of thine eyes?
What other monsters dare he wreak?
What the hand dare claim that beak?
And what shoulder, and what feat
Could twist thy tiny, spindly feet?
And when thy feet began to perch,
What dread heave? & what dread lurch?
What the hammer? What the chain?
In what walnut was thy brain?
What the tree stump? What dread grasp
Dare its creaking fibres clasp?
And when the stars all uttered, ‘wow’
And lookèd on with furrowed brow,
Did he smile, his work to see?
Did he who made the owl make thee?
Frogmo! Frogmo! yawning wide,
Or, like a stick, withered, and dried,
What .. immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy awful yellow gape?