THE chiming seas may clang; and Tubal Cain May clink his tinkling metals as he may; Or Pan may sit and pipe his breath away; Or Orpheus wake his most entrancing strain Till not a note of melody remain! -- But thou, O cricket, with thy roundelay, Shalt laugh them all to scorn! So wilt thou, pray Trill me thy glad song o'er and o'er again: I shall not weary; there is purest worth In thy sweet prattle, since it sings the lone Heart home again. Thy warbling hath no dearth Of childish memories -- no harsher tone Than we might listen to in gentlest mirth, Thou poor plebeian minstrel of the hearth. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GOLD-OF-OPHIR ROSES by GRACE ATHERTON DENNEN THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM, THE MURDERER by THOMAS HOOD WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT? by WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS THE ROSE AND THE GAUNTLET by JOHN STERLING (1806-1844) THE BLACKBIRD by ALFRED TENNYSON THE LAST MAN: SWEET TO DIE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES MORGIANA DANCES by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE GODS OF THE EARTH BENEATH by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE RING AND THE BOOK: BOOK 6. GIUSEPPE CAPONSACCHI by ROBERT BROWNING |