Oh, to be a cricket,
That's the thing!
To scurry in the grass
And to have one's fling!
And it's oh, to be a cricket
In the warm thistle-thicket,
Where the sun-winds pass,
Winds a-wing,
And the bumble-bees hang humming,
Hum and swing,
And the honey-drops are coming!

It's to be a summer rover,
That can see a sweet, and pick it
With the sting!
Never mind the sting!

And it's oh, to be a cricket
In the clover!
A gay summer rover
In the warm thistle-thicket,
Where the honey-drops are coming,
Where the bumble-bees hang humming—
That's the thing!