At Ease Beneath Some Pleasant Weed

[dropcap2 textColor=”#ffffff”]T[/dropcap2]HE 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.

– “On the Grasshopper and Cricket” by John Keats

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© 2012 Loren Zemlicka
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