WOODLAND PATHS 



soon. This was a great Samla cecropia 

 moth. The night before he had been 

 safely tucked away in his cocoon over 

 my mantel, where I had hung it last 

 December. 



In the night he had answered the call 

 and now was perched outside his cell, 

 gently expanding his wings with pulsing 

 motions that seemed tremulous with eager- 

 ness or delight. I noted the soft delicacy 

 of the coloring in his rich, fur-surfaced 

 body and wings, shades which are reds 

 and grays and browns and ashes of roses, 

 and a score of others so dainty and deli- 

 cate that we have no words to describe or 

 define them. 



A wonderful creature this to appear in 

 a man's house, sit poised on his mantel 

 and blink serenely at him, as if the man 

 himself were the intruder and the room 



the usual habitat of creatures out of fairy- 

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