The Grasshopper, singing
All summer long,
Now found winter stinging,
And ceased in his song.
Not a morsel or crumb in his cupboard–
So he shivered, and ceased in his song.
Miss Ant was his neighbor;
To her he went:
“O, you’re rich from labor,
And I’ve not a cent.
Lend me food, and I vow I’ll return it,
Though at present I have not a cent.”
Lend me food and I vow I’ll return it.
The Ant’s not a lender,
I must confess.
Her heart’s far from tender
To one in distress.
So she said: “Pray, how passed you the summer,
That in winter you come to distress?”
“I sang through the summer,”
“But now I am glummer
Because I’ve no bread.”
“So you sang!” sneered the Ant. “That relieves me.
Now it’s winter–go dance for your bread!”