The insects’ clown is he, is he!

From Maine o’er plains to the Rockies found,

With foolscap forehead and shrilling sound,

From bush and bramble your roundelay

Comes sharp and clear through the summer day,

Z-szip-zee. Z-szip, z-szip-zee!

The wee tree cricket. So free, so free!

Sings night and day! What glee, what glee!

Your high held wings make such presto fine

No human skill can compare with thine;