The Frog And The Tadpole

On Tagus' banks, in artless wonder,
A little Tadpole, on a canebrake gazing,
Long with its mother chatted of the leaves,
Of the huge stalks, and verdure so amazing;
But now the air with the fierce tempest heaves,
And the rough winds the canebrake rent asunder--
A broken cane into the stream fell over;
"Come, look, my child," now said the thoughtful mother,
"Without, so strong, luxuriant and smooth--
Within, all pith and emptiness, forsooth!"

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If our good Frog some poets' works had read,
Perchance, of them she might the same have said.