INSECTS.
These tiny loiterers on the barley’s beard,
And happy units of a numerous herd
Of playfellows, the laughing summer brings;
Mocking the sunshine on their glittering wings;
How merrily they creep, and run, and fly!
No kin they bear to labor’s drudgery,
Smoothing the velvet of the pale hedge-rose,
And where they fly for dinner no one knows;
The dew-drop feeds them not; they love the shine