The sun is set; the swallows are asleep;
The bats are flitting fast in the gray air;
The slow soft toads out of damp corners creep,
And evening’s breath, wandering here and there
Over the quivering surface of the stream,
Wakes not one ripple from its summer dream.
–Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792–1822)
I still can’t upload new photos, so this is a repeat. Actually he’s a frog.