I HEARD the crickets all about, Drunk with sunshine, shout and shout. Mountain-cranberry by the ledge, Fingering the sun-warmed edge, Fed its berries round and red On the mountain's flinty bread, And the hazel crooked its stalk To nurse its nuts against the rock. In the seam—O fair, fair, fair!— Feathered grasses shone like hair; Up there on the mountain-side They had yielded seed, and died. —This much I was quick to mark, Against the winter and the dark. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: DOW BRITT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO HIS DYING BROTHER, MASTER WILLIAM HERRICK by ROBERT HERRICK LOUSE HUNTING by ISAAC ROSENBERG VIRGILS GNAT by EDMUND SPENSER OUR WEAKNESS by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE WORLD'S TRIUMPHS by MATTHEW ARNOLD |