Can I view thee panting, lying
On thy stomach, without sighing;
Can I unmoved see thee dying
On a log,
Say, have fiends in shape of boys,
With wild halloo, and brutal noise,
Hunted thee from marshy joys,
With a dog,
(Charles Dickens, "The Pickwick Papers")
I had forgotten how the frogs must sound
After a year of silence, else I think
I should not have ventured forth alone
At dusk upon this unfrequented road.
I am waylaid by Beauty. Who will walk
Between me and the crying of the frogs?
Oh, savage Beauty, suffer me to pass,
that am a timid woman, on her way
From one house to another!
(Edna St. Vincent-Millay, "Assault")