To The Cricket

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Title:     To The Cricket
Author: James Whitcomb Riley [More Titles by Riley]

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.

[The end]
James Whitcomb Riley's poem: To The Cricket

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