DLTK's Poems
On the Grasshopper and
the Cricket
by John Keats
The poetry of earth is never dead:
When
all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees,
a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That
is the Grasshopper's -- he takes the lead
In summer luxury, -- he has
never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests
at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
The poetry of earth is ceasing
never:
On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a
silence, from the stove there shrills
The Cricket's song, in warmth
increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
The
Grasshopper's among some grassy hills.
