Some to the sun their insect wings unfold,
Waft on the breeze, or sink in clouds of gold:
Transparent forms, too fine for mortal sight,
Their fluid bodies half dissolved in light;
Loose to the wind their airy garments flew,
Thin glittering textures of the filmy dew,
Dipped in the riches tincture of the skies,
Where light disports in every-mingling dyes,
While every beam new transient colours flings,
Colours that change when'er they move their wings.
~ Lord Tennyson
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