Poetry of Keats

John Keats
born 1796, died 1820

Sonnet

(on the grasshopper and cricket)

The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, avoice 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.

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