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.


“where the sun beats, / And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief” 


Wonder if Eliot drew on Keats for a contrast. 

And sorry for misquoting that line about grasshopper. Was writing from memory only. 


On Wed, Aug 1, 2018 at 9:49 AM Chanan Mittal <[log in to unmask]> wrote:

Eliot with a bit of Shakespeare 

The air is thoroughly small and dry ...

The grasshopper is a burden ...

There is not enough silence here ...

Hamlet: To be or not to be ... 

Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will