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, 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
