PROC. ENT. SOC. WASH., VOL. 24, NO. 7-8, OCT. -NOV., 1922 185 



tioned is the cluster-fly (Pollenia rudis Fabr.) which hibernates 

 as an adult: 



"The House-fly, stealing from his narrow grave, 

 Drugged with the opiate that November gave, 

 Beats with faint wing against the sunny pane, 

 Or crawls, tenacious, o'er its lucid plain." 



Spring. 



In point of numbers the poetic references to the Lepidoptera 

 come next. 



The esthetic appeal of the diurnal Lepidoptera is strongly 

 reflected in the writings of the poets, and more than one half 

 of their references to this order relate to the butterflies. These 

 are the most conspicuous and brilliantly colored of insects, and 

 for this reason alone might be expected to claim the attention 

 of the poet, but when we consider their apparently happy and 

 care-free lives, their intimate relations with the flowers and the 

 fact that a butterfly was anciently regarded as the symbol of 

 the soul, it is readily understood why these insects are among 

 the favorites of the poets. 



Of the numerous excerpts in the present collection, 55% refer 

 to butterflies, and of the remainder about 20% relate to the 

 moths and the rest to caterpillars, canker-worms, or "worms" 

 obviously of Lepidopterous origin. Regarding the symbolism 

 of the butterfly Coleridge says: 



"The butterfly the ancient Grecians made 

 The soul's fair emblem, and its only name." 



and Browning refers to the same fact in: 



"Look at the woman here with the new soul, 

 Like my own Psyche's, fresh upon her lips, 



Alit, the visionary butterfly." 



Psyche. 



Lepidopterous larvae are often mentioned merely as "worms": 



" the small worm th.at crept abroad at midnight 

 To sip the cool dews, and feed on sleeping flowers 

 Then slunk into its hole, the little vampyre!" 



Montgomery. 



Beginning with hibernation, it is possible to follow thejlarva 

 through its transformations to the adult insect, in poetry: 



"What penetrating power of sun or breeze, 

 Shall e'er dissolve the crust wherein his soul 

 Sleeps, like a caterpillar sheathed in ice?' 



Wordsworth. 



"Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud, 

 And caterpillars eat my leaves away." 



Shakespeare. 



