The CricketWhen the moonlight falls from the star-strewn sky;Comes the tune of the mockingbird;When the morning dawns and the roses sigh,Then the lark’s sweet voice is heard.When all things smileAnd the hours beguile,Then the hearts of the singers are stirred.When the dull, cold nigh makes the heart sink low;And the death watch ticks in the wall,And the soul lies crouched like a harried foe,Comes the cricket’s merry call.In the hour of fear,With his note of cheer,Rings his sprightly madrigal.(Houston Daily Post, Sunday morning, May 17, 1896.)
When the moonlight falls from the star-strewn sky;Comes the tune of the mockingbird;When the morning dawns and the roses sigh,Then the lark’s sweet voice is heard.When all things smileAnd the hours beguile,Then the hearts of the singers are stirred.
When the dull, cold nigh makes the heart sink low;And the death watch ticks in the wall,And the soul lies crouched like a harried foe,Comes the cricket’s merry call.In the hour of fear,With his note of cheer,Rings his sprightly madrigal.
(Houston Daily Post, Sunday morning, May 17, 1896.)