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。白天的飞蛾是杂交的生物，既不像蝴蝶那么鲜艳，又不像其他同类的蛾那么暗淡。而眼前这只飞蛾，长着干草色的窄翅，翅膀边缘呈同一色彩的流苏状，它似乎对生活感到满足。时值九月中旬一个令人愉快的早晨，天气温和宜人，不过比夏季更增添了几分凉意。在窗对面的田地里有人已在犁地，凡是犁过的地方，泥土都变得平整起来，泛着湿润的微光。这种充满活力的气息从一块块田野和远处那片高地扑面而来，让人难以专心看书。白嘴鸦们也在欢庆着它们一年一度的节日之一，高高地盘旋于树顶上空，最后仿佛一张有数千个黑结的大网被撒向了空中；片刻后这张大网慢慢降落到树上，以致每根树枝的顶端似乎都有一个结似的。然后，这张大网忽然再次被抛向空中，罩住更宽广的一片，传出巨大的吵闹与喧嚷声，似乎被抛向空中再慢慢降落到树顶是种极其兴奋的经历。

The same energy which inspired the rooks， the ploughmen， the horses， and even， it seemed， the lean bare-backed downs， sent the moth fluttering from side to side of his square of the window-pane. One could not help watching him. One was， indeed， conscious of a queer feeling of pity for him. The possibilities of pleasure seemed that morning so enormous and so various that to have only a moth’s part in life， and a day moth’s at that， appeared a hard fate， and his zest in enjoying his meagre opportunities to the full， pathetic. He flew vigorously to one corner of his compartment， and， after waiting there a second， flew across to the other. What remained for him but to fly to a third corner and then to a fourth？ That was all he could do， in spite of the size of the downs， the width of the sky， the far-off smoke of houses， and the romantic voice， now and then， of a steamer out at sea. What he could do he did. Watching him， it seemed as if a fibre， very thin but pure， of the enormous energy of the world had been thrust into his frail and diminutive body. As often as he crossed the pane， I could fancy that a thread of vital light became visible. He was little or nothing but life.

就是这种鼓舞了白嘴鸦、把犁人、马匹，甚至那片贫瘠光秃高地的生命力，也促使飞蛾拍打着翅膀在它那块方窗玻璃的四边飞来飞去。你情不自禁地要观察它。你甚至对它产生一种奇怪的同情之心。