The Death of the Moth飞蛾之死

Moths that fly by day are not properly to be called moths; they do not excite that pleasant sense of dark autumn nights and ivy-blossom which the commonest yellow-underwing asleep in the shadow of the curtain never fails to rouse in us. They are hybrid creatures， neither gay like butterflies nor sombre like their own species. Nevertheless the present specimen， with his narrow hay-coloured wings， fringed with a tassel of the same colour， seemed to be content with life. It was a pleasant morning， mid-September， mild， benignant， yet with a keener breath than that of the summer months. The plough was already scoring the field opposite the window， and where the share had been， the earth was pressed flat and gleamed with moisture. Such vigour came rolling in from the fields and the down beyond that it was difficult to keep the eyes strictly turned upon the book. The rooks too were keeping one of their annual festivities; soaring round the tree tops until it looked as if a vast net with thousands of black knots in it had been cast up into the air; which， after a few moments sank slowly down upon the trees until every twig seemed to have a knot at the end of it. Then， suddenly， the net would be thrown into the air again in a wider circle this time， with the utmost clamour and vociferation， as though to be thrown into the air and settle slowly down upon the tree tops were a tremendously exciting experience.

白天飞行的蛾被称为飞蛾是不恰当的；眠于窗帘阴暗处的那种最为常见的黄夜蛾，总使我们对幽暗的秋夜和常春藤的芬芳感到惬意，但白天的飞蛾就不会让我们产生此种感觉。（剩余8942字）