As the Rivoli hovers over the mescal and gathers from its flowers the numerous insects that infest them; or, as it takes the sweets from the flowers of the boreal honeysuckle, one is reminded of the words of the poet:
“Art thou a bird, a bee, or butterfly?”
“‘Each and all three—a bird in shape am I,
A bee collecting sweets from bloom to bloom,
A butterfly in brilliancy of plume.’”
THE SEA-GULL.
From the frozen Pole to the Tropic sea
Thou wingest thy course with the drifting clouds;
O’er ghostly bergs and vessels’ shrouds
The beat of thy wings is strong and free.