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A Child's Own Book of Verse, Book Three by  Ada M. Skinner and Frances Gillespy Wickes


 

 

ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET

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.

—JOHN KEATS.


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