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.


by John Keats
December 30, 1816.
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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.


by John Keats
December 30, 1816.
Zoom Info

 

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.
by John Keats
December 30, 1816.

"There is nothing sexier than a man who teaches his children to respect women by treating their mother with love and respect. The way we treat each other in front of our children teaches them so much. Brad is teaching them to respect women, and the girls are being shown an example of how they expect to be treated. I hope to do the same for the boys.”

"There is nothing sexier than a man who teaches his children to respect women by treating their mother with love and respect. The way we treat each other in front of our children teaches them so much. Brad is teaching them to respect women, and the girls are being shown an example of how they expect to be treated. I hope to do the same for the boys.”

"How Robin Williams Defined My Childhood"

Ask anyone in her 20s and 30s to share childhood memories of Williams, and she’ll share at least one, probably two — maybe three! — just like my own. Williams is peak nostalgia for many of us, in part because his vast canon includes kids fare that we grew up on but also because that same vast canon includes movies that ushered us into adulthood. He’s not only our past, he’s our present. 

Read more on Cosmopolitan.com

Robin Williams 1951-2014

Humphrey Bogart was buried with a small, gold whistle once part of a charm bracelet he had given to Lauren Bacall before they married. It was inscribed with a quote from their first movie together: ‘If you want anything, just whistle.’

I guess he whistled.

 

La Belle Dame sans Merci [The Beautiful Lady without Mercy] (1926), Frank Cadogan Cowper

And there she lullèd me asleep,And there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide!—The latest dream I ever dreamtOn the cold hill side.I saw pale kings and princes too,Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;They cried—‘La Belle Dame sans MerciHath thee in thrall!’

John Keats, 1819
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La Belle Dame sans Merci [The Beautiful Lady without Mercy] (1926), Frank Cadogan Cowper

And there she lullèd me asleep,And there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide!—The latest dream I ever dreamtOn the cold hill side.I saw pale kings and princes too,Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;They cried—‘La Belle Dame sans MerciHath thee in thrall!’

John Keats, 1819
Zoom Info

 

La Belle Dame sans Merci [The Beautiful Lady without Mercy] (1926), Frank Cadogan Cowper

And there she lullèd me asleep,
And there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide!—
The latest dream I ever dreamt
On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried—‘La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!’

John Keats, 1819