The Grasshopper and the Cricket
Keats
The poetry of the earth never dies:
When all the birds die due to the scorching sun Faint,
Hidden in the cool woods, there is a sound
Floating in the hedges around the freshly cut grass,
That is the Grasshopper Oh, the music! It strives to be the first. Intoxicated with the luxury of midsummer, it never feels its joy disappear. Once it gets tired,
Nestled comfortably in the middle of welcome grass.
The poetry of the earth never stops:
In the lonely winter night, when the frost condenses
A tranquility springs from the hearth< /p>
The song of crickets is heard in the gradually rising heating.
In the drowsy atmosphere, people feel the sound.
It is as if they are crickets singing in the grass. The mountains chirped.
Night
Yesenin
The river flows quietly into sleep,
The dark jungle loses its sound.
The song of the nightingale has fallen silent,
The crake no longer cries for joy.
When night comes, everything is quiet.
Only the clear singing of the stream can be heard.
The bright moon casts its brilliance,
It coats everything around it with silver.
There are thousands of silver stars in the river,
The silver waves in the creek are slightly rippling.
The green grass on the waterlogged field also shines with silver light.
When night comes, everything is quiet,
Nature is immersed in sleep,
The bright moon sheds its light,
Everything around is covered in silver.