A Short Garden Poem
On the Grasshopper and the Cricket
Poet - 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.
More verses by poet, John Keats:
A thing of beauty is a joy forever:
its loveliness increases;
it will never pass into nothingness.
Heard melodies are sweet,
but those unheard are sweeter.
Much have I traveled in the realms of gold,
and many goodly states and kingdoms seen.
Scenery is fine -
but human nature is finer.
Poetry should be great and unobtrusive,
a thing which enters into one's soul,
and does not startle it or amaze it with itself,
but with its subject.