On the Grasshopper and the Cricket

On the Grasshopper and the Cricket

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 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 where shrills

The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,

And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,

The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills.

((If you have any further questions, would like to make a suggestion for a future poem/topic of discussion, or would like an analysis of this poem to be done, please inform me by leaving a comment below. I will address any and all comments in the order they are received, as quickly as I can.))

Bright Star! Would I Were Steadfast as Thou Art

Bright Star! Would I Were Steadfast as Thou Art

John Keats

Bright Star! would I were steadfast as thou art-

Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,

And watching, with eternal lids apart,

Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite,

The moving waters at their priestlike task

Of pure ablution round the earth's human shores,

Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask

Of snow upon the mountains and the moors-

No - yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,

Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast,

To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,

Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,

Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,

And so live ever - or else swoon to death.