Poetry

On the Grasshopper and 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.

That line - "The poetry of earth is ceasing never:" reminds me that

the gray, iron-hard lack of life is only a deep repose, and that we

will again hear spring peepers trilling in our woods.

I asked myself why I've been including a poem each day - at first I

had no answer, but then I realized that it is a way to express

my state of mind, as well as to share beautifully written and

juxtaposed words. I earned a BA in English Literature...some people

might think that a waste of time, but I'm grateful for the love of

words I found.

Spinning: No progress today...

Knitting: Still plugging away on Noro Sock #2. Getting increasingly

worried about running short on yarn... 

Exercise: 30 minutes of free weights; 20 minutes of bicycling