 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
84
THE GRASSHOPPER
Rest, rest, impatient heart! thou dost not know
What 'tis thou seekest: wilt thou hurl away
For petty praise, a little gilded show,
The lavish treasure of the golden day?
What 'tis thou seekest: wilt thou hurl away
For petty praise, a little gilded show,
The lavish treasure of the golden day?
Yon grasshopper, in green enamelled mail,
With waving whisks and blunted nose upthrust,
Draws whizzing thighs athwart his plated tail,
Or trails his belly in the sun-warmed dust,
With waving whisks and blunted nose upthrust,
Draws whizzing thighs athwart his plated tail,
Or trails his belly in the sun-warmed dust,
Or leaps among his fellows, caring nought
Which leaps the highest, which the braver drest;
With solemn face, his edged jaws crossing slow,
He clips the succulent salad: gives no thought
That soon the clouds shall gather from the West,
And all the high hill-pastures ache with snow.
Which leaps the highest, which the braver drest;
With solemn face, his edged jaws crossing slow,
He clips the succulent salad: gives no thought
That soon the clouds shall gather from the West,
And all the high hill-pastures ache with snow.
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |