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T he poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun.
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead
That is the Grasshopper's-he takes the lead
In summer luxury. - he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
The poetry of earth is ceasing never
On Blome winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
What is the summary of this poem
Answers
Answer:
Explanation:
“The poetry of earth is never dead”
And the first line of the sestet re-affirms this announcement:
The poetry of earth is ceasing never”
We are reminded repeatedly and aesthetically as only Keats can do, of the constant music of nature. Sometimes it’s the grasshopper’s song, and at others it’s the cricket’s chirp, come day or night, summer or winter. Thus nature and poetry become as one—a conviction dear to Keats.
He underlines forcefully that through the changing seasons, from spring to scorching summer through autumn to frost-biting winter, Nature’s poetry and music continues, ever-present. One must learn to discern the melody, the signature print of each season to appreciate natures’ unending continuity
The omnipresence of nature is forever enchanting, and bountiful, and her “poetry” is unspoiled, though the cyclic rhythm of the seasons comes and goes.
The Poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper’s—he takes the lead
In summer luxury,—he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The Cricket’s song, in warmth increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
The Grasshopper’s among some grassy hills.
The core theme of the poem is expressed by a contrast of the octave with the sestet, of the sonnet form. While in the octave, a hot summer is described, the sestet contains scenes of a freezing winter.
In the octave, Keats calls the grasshopper the poet of summer .On a scorching day when the blazing rays of the sun threatens to sap every drop of energy, the birds stop singing their delightful songs and seek refuge in the cool shade under the leafy boughs of the trees. Exhausted and languishing in the intolerable heat, they fall silent.
Even so the music of earth does not stop, for it is at this hour that one can hear the tiny grasshopper. This little Grasshopper– “he takes the lead”, as his voice sounds from “hedge to hedge.” The luxurious summer heat does not deter his merriment and unflagging energy for fun.
He flits about in the air, filled with the fragrance of the freshly-mown grass in the meadows. When he is exhausted or a little breathless he rests beneath a pleasant cooling weed for a fleeting moment before resuming into song again with renewed vigour. Thus the little creature keeps alive the poetry of earth in the searing heat of summer.
In the sestet we find a different season and a new kind of poetry. Winter arrives with its icy touch, imposing a death-like silence on the surrounding landscape. Nature is now bleak and desolate, with a curtain of frost .The snow lies like a mantle on the ground and all creatures seek the shelter of their own homes .Even then, the tireless bard of winter keeps the music of earth alive.
Breaking the painful silence of a long, cheerless winter evening, comes the Cricket’s shrill notes from somewhere near the stove. His joyous song permeates the air becoming louder every moment as the radiating heat from the stove warms the room. In contrast to the dull, lifeless weather, the happy chirping of the cricket sounds thrilling infusing new energy into ones soul .It reminds one that life exists and the silvery snow will soon melt once more to make way for the spring.
The poet describes the image of a man half asleep, beside the stove, lulled by the warmth of the fire and the monotonous drone of the cricket. He is about to doze off into a slumber. In this drowsy state, he hears the cricket’s high pitched notes drifting about in the air and mistakes it for the merry notes of the grasshopper singing gleefully among the hills on a warm mid-summer day.
The poet thus reiterates his belief in the continuity of the cycle of seasons– what the grasshopper starts in summer is carried on by the cricket throughout the long winter till the grasshopper takes over again with the re-emergence of summer. In this manner, nature continues the cyclic order of seasons with her very own minstrels taking upon themselves the responsibility of keeping alive the poetry of earth.