In whose bright plumes the richest colors live,
whose dazzling lines no mimic art can give.
The purple amethyst, the emerald’s green
Contrasted, mingle with the ruby’s sheen,
While over all a tissue is put on,
Of golden gauze by fairy fingers spun.
Small as a beetle, as an eagle brave,
In purest ether he delights to lave;
The sweetest flowers alone descends to woo,
Rifles their sweets and lives on honey-dew,