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_Butterflies_. C.G.D. ROBERTS.
So, naturalists observe, a flea
Has smaller fleas that on him prey;
And these have smaller still to bite 'em;
And so proceed _ad infinitum_.
_Poetry: a Rhapsody_. J. SWIFT.
I saw a flie within a beade
Of amber cleanly buried.
_On a Fly buried in Amber_. R. HERRICK.
Oh! that the memories which survive us here
Were half so lovely as these wings of thine!
Pure relics of a blameless life, that shine
Now thou art gone.
_On Finding a Fly Crushed in a Book_. C.T. TURNER.
When evening closes Nature's eye,
The glow-worm lights her little spark
To captivate her favorite fly
And tempt the rover through the dark.
_The Glow-worm_. J. MONTGOMERY.
Ye living lamps, by whose dear light
The nightingale does sit so late;
And studying all the summer night,
Her matchless songs does meditate.
_The Mower to the Glow-worm_. A. MARVEL.
Where the katydid works her chromatic reed on the walnut-tree
over the well.
_Leaves of Grass, Pt. XXXVIII_. W. WHITMAN.
What gained we, little moth? Thy ashes,
Thy one brief parting pang may show:
And withering thoughts for soul that dashes,
From deep to deep, are but a death more slow.
_Tragedy of the Night-Moth_. T. CARLYLE.
The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine!
Feels at each thread, and lives along the line.
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