e poem about a dragon-fly, symbolic only, but
quite pretty. It is entitled "La Demoiselle"; and the other poem was
entitled, as you remember, "Ma Libellule." Both words mean a dragon-fly,
but not the same kind of dragon-fly. The French word "demoiselle," which
might be adequately rendered into Japanese by the term _ojosan_, refers
only to those exquisitely slender, graceful, slow-flitting dragon-flies
known to the scientist by the name of Calopteryx. Of course you know the
difference by sight, and the reason of the French name will be poetically
apparent to you.

Quand la demoiselle doree
S'envole au depart des hivers,
Souvent sa robe diapree,
Souvent son aile est dechiree
Aux mille dards des buissons verts.

Ainsi, jeunesse vive et frele,
Qui, t'egarant de tous cotes,
Voles ou ton instinct t'appele,
Souvent tu dechires ton aile
Aux epines des voluptes.

"When, at the departure of winter, the gilded dragon-fly begins to soar,
often her many-coloured robe, often her wing, is torn by the thousand
thorns of the verdant shrubs.

"Even so, O frail and joyous Youth, who, wandering hither and thither, in
every direction, flyest wherever thy instinct calls thee--even so thou
dost often tear thy wings upon the thorns of pleasure."

You must understand that pleasure is compared to a rose-bush, whose
beautiful and fragrant flowers attract the insects, but whose thorns are
dangerous to the visitors. However, Victor Hugo does not use the word for
rose-bush, for obvious reasons; nor does he qualify the plants which are
said to tear the wings of the dragon-fly. I need hardly tell you that the
comparison would not hold good in reference to the attraction of flowers,
because dragon-flies do not care in the least about flowers, and if they
happen to tear their wings among thorn bushes, it is much more likely to
be in their attempt to capture and devour other insects. The merit of the
poem is chiefly in its music and colour; as natural history it would not
bear criticism. The most beautiful modern French poem about insects,
beautiful because of its classical perfection, is I think a sonnet by
Heredia, entitled "Epigramme Funeraire"--that is to say, "Inscription for
a Tombstone." This is an exact imitation of Greek sentiment and
expression, carefully studied after the poets of the anthology. Several
such Greek poems are extant, recounting how children mourned for pet
insects which had died in spite of all their