Wat mensen zeggen - Een review schrijven
We hebben geen reviews gevonden op de gebruikelijke plaatsen.
Overige edities - Alles bekijken
Abdomen adult angle antennae apex appearance basal base bees black points body broad broadly brown cell Central Europe characters cilia cinnamon collar collected color costa crustacean curved dark darker described drab edge eggs end of cell entomological evidence Expanse extending eyes female Fore wings front fuscous genitalia genus gray green hairs half HARMOLITA head Hind wings inner margin insects irrorated joint larvae lateral legs length less light buff lobe longer male mandibles maxilla medial mentioned middle narrow occurring ochraceous outcurved outer pale palpi parasite plate poets posterior postmedial present references represented rounded scales segment shaded short shown side silvery similar slightly Society space species specimens stage streak structures subterminal suffused terminal terminal black third thorax tips Type.-Cat usually vein ventral Washington whitish wings white yellow
Pagina 189 - THE poetry of earth is never dead: When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead ; That is the Grasshopper's — he takes the lead In summer luxury, — he has never done With his delights; for when tired out with fun He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
Pagina 199 - To-day I saw the dragon-fly Come from the wells where he did lie. "An inner impulse rent the veil Of his old husk : from head to tail Came out clear plates of sapphire mail. "He dried his wings: like gauze they grew: Thro' crofts and pastures wet with dew A living flash of light he flew.
Pagina 199 - So, naturalists observe, a flea Has smaller fleas that on him prey ; And these have smaller still to bite 'em, And so proceed ad inftnitinn.
Pagina 178 - But her dog whined low ; on the doorway sill, With his cane to his chin, The old man sat ; and the chore-girl still Sung to the bees stealing out and in. And the song she was singing ever since In my ear sounds on : — 'Stay at home, pretty bees, fly not hence ! Mistress Mary is dead and gone...
Pagina 164 - Now from all parts the swelling kennels flow. And bear their trophies with them as they go : Filths of all hues and odours seem to tell What street they sail'd from by their sight and smell. They, as each torrent drives, with rapid force, From Smithfield or St 'Pulchre's shape their course, And in huge confluence join'd at Snowhill ridge, Fall from the conduit prone to Holborn bridge. Sweepings from butchers...
Pagina 172 - And spun him a weh of ample size, Wherein there chanced one day to fall A couple of very imprudent flies. The first was a bottle-fly, big and blue, The second was smaller, and thin and long; So there was a concert between the two, Like an octave flute and a tavern gong.
Pagina 183 - Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep! He hath awakened from the dream of life. 'Tis we who, lost in stormy visions, keep With phantoms an unprofitable strife, And in mad trance strike with our spirit's knife Invulnerable nothings. We decay Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief Convulse us and consume us day by day, And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.
Pagina 184 - Your worm is your only emperor for diet: we fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots: your fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service; two dishes, but to one table: that's the end.
Pagina 180 - O MORTAL man, who livest here by toil, Do not complain of this thy hard estate ; That like an emmet thou must ever moil, Is a sad sentence of an ancient date ; And, certes, there is for it reason great ; For, though sometimes it makes thee weep and wail, And curse thy star, and early drudge and late, Withouten that would come a heavier bale, Loose life, unruly passions, and diseases pale.
Pagina 182 - FAIR insect ! that, with threadlike legs spread out, And blood-extracting bill and filmy wing, Dost murmur, as thou slowly sail'st about, In pitiless ears full many a plaintive thing, And tell how little our large veins should bleed, Would we but yield them to thy bitter need.