《蝈蝈与蛐蛐》原文
The Grasshopper and the Cricket
John Keats
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 newmown 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.
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