Classic Poem

The Cicada

We think you happy, O cicada, since drinking a little dew in the tree-tops you sing like a master. For all that you see in the fields, all that the woods bear are yours.
You are dear to the toiler; you harm no one; you are honoured by mortals, a sweet prophet of summer; the Muses love you and so does Phaebus who teaches you your shrill song.
Old age wears not upon you, O wise, earth-born song-lover! Unpained, innocent of blood, you are almost like the gods.EnglishShort Poems