The French poets who have written pretty things about insects are nearly all poets of our own times.  Some of them treat the subject from the old Greek standpoint—­indeed the beautiful poem of Heredia upon the tomb of a grasshopper is perfectly Greek, and reads almost like a translation from the Greek.  Other poets try to express the romance of insects in the form of a monologue, full of the thought of our own age.  Others again touch the subject of insects only in connection with the subject of love.  I will give one example of each method, keeping the best piece for the last, and beginning with a pretty fancy about a dragonfly.

MA LIBELLULE

  En te voyant, toute mignonne,
  Blanche dans ta robe d’azure,
  Je pensais a quelque madone
  Drapee en un pen de ciel pur.

  Je songeais a ces belles saintes
  Que l’on voyait au temps jadis
  Sourire sur les vitres peintes,
  Montrant d’un doigt le paradis: 

  Et j’aurais voulu, loin du monde
  Qui passait frivole entre nous,
  Dans quelque retraite profonde
  T’adorer seul a deux genoux.

This first part of the poem is addressed of course to a beautiful child, some girl between the age of childhood and womanhood: 

“Beholding thee, Oh darling one, all white in thy azure dress, I thought of some figure of the Madonna robed in a shred of pure blue sky.

“I dreamed of those beautiful figures of saints whom one used to see in olden times smiling in the stained glass of church windows, and pointing upward to Paradise.

“And I could have wished to adore you alone upon my bended knees in some far hidden retreat, away from the frivolous world that passed between us.”

This little bit of ecstasy over the beauty and purity of a child is pretty, but not particularly original.  However, it is only an introduction.  Now comes the pretty part of the poem: 

  Soudain un caprice bizarre
  Change la scene et le decor,
  Et mon esprit au loin s’egare
  Sur des grands pres d’azure et d’or

  Ou, pres de ruisseaux muscules
  Gazouillants comme des oiseaux,
  Se poursuivent les libellules,
  Ces fleurs vivantes des roseaux.

  Enfant, n’es tu pas l’une d’elles
  Qui me poursuit pour consoler? 
  Vainement tu caches tes ailes;
  Tu marches, mais tu sais voler.

  Petite fee au bleu corsage,
  Que j’ai connu des mon berceau,
  En revoyant ton doux visage,
  Je pense aux joncs de mon ruisseau!

  Veux-tu qu’en amoureux fideles
  Nous revenions dans ces pres verts? 
  Libellule, reprends tes ailes;
  Moi, je brulerai tous mes vers!

  Et nous irons, sous la lumiere,
  D’un ciel plus frais et plus leger
  Chacun dans sa forme premiere,
  Moi courir, et toi voltiger.

“Suddenly a strange fancy changes for me the scene and the scenery; and my mind wanders far away over great meadows of azure and gold.