As I was wandering through the grassy, flower strewn hillside at West Wycombe last weekend, I was struck by the tumultuous overtures of the crickets in the long grass. Also, I have just been watching the wonderful Jane Campion film, ‘Bright Star’ about John Keats, so I give you Keats and crickets.
On the Grasshopper and the Cricket – by John Keats (1795-1821)
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 the 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.