Lilies white in the valley lay
" Ladders to Heaven " the old wives say —
" I will go up to Heaven " the cricket said,
" Though I'm bound to admit that I am not dead. "

The cricket's colours were bright and blent,
His legs were many and excellent;
The cricket was light of limb and wing,
But the cricket's soul was a serious thing.

He scaled the heights of the lily's crest,
And sat there silent and much impressed;
On the top of a full-grown stalk you are
Terribly near to the morning star.

He gave one chirp out of life and limb
To help the chaunt of the cherubim,
But a breeze blew sudden from Heaven knows where,
And the stalk that swung in the wind was bare.

The beetle and mole, in the twilight dim,
Found a moral at once for him,
" There are heights too sacred for foot to press,
Besides you die, and it makes a mess. "

The cricket's head in a pool they found,
They collected his legs from the country round,
But One thing troubled the beetle and mole,
They never could find the cricket's soul.