The Philistine

The cricket to the corn-crake came one day, Shivering, yet buzzing in his wanton way, And said: “I’m slain By hunger, brother, turn thou not from me; ’Tis winter, and I only beg of thee A little grain.” The corn-crake grinned and said in tone sublime: “Where wert thou hidden in the harvest time, Thou dinning drone? Why didst thou not come with us to the fields To gather something for thy winter meals Of what had grown?” “O, I was entertaining with my rhymes The vineyards, and the fig trees, and the thymes The summer long.” “No then,” replied the corn-crake, “not a seed Have I for such as thou; go home and feed Upon thy Song.”