Do not let us again reproach the adult insect with his triumphant delirium.

For four years, in the darkness he has worn a dirty parchment overall; for four years he has mined the soil with his talons, and now the mud-stained sapper is suddenly clad in the finest raiment, and provided with wings that rival the bird's; moreover, he is drunken with heat and flooded with light, the supreme terrestrial joy.

His cymbals will never suffice to celebrate such felicity, so well earned although so ephemeral..