尽管烈日下小鸟们晒得发晕，
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
躲进了清凉的树阴，却有个嗓音
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
越重重篱笆，沿新割的草场飞扬；
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead—
那是蝈蝈的嗓音，他带头歌唱
That is the grasshopper's; he takes the lead
盛夏的富丽豪华，他的欢欣
In summer luxury; he has never done
永无止境；他要是吟倦兴尽，
With his delights, for when tired out with fun
就到愉快的小草下休憩静躺。
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
大地的歌吟永远也不会终了：
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
在冬天落寞的傍晚，眼看严霜
On a lone winter evening, when the frost
把一切冻入静寂，忽然从炉边
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
扬起蟋蟀的高歌，而炉温渐高，
The cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,
听的人慵倦欲睡，迷离惝恍，
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
仿佛听到蝈蝈吟唱在草山。
The grasshopper's among some grassy hills.