To The Cricket by James Whitcomb 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.

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