And in the high mountayns swarmeth the Bogong Moth, dark pilgrim of the night. In caves they gather as a living carpet, a multitude without number. Then come the tribes, with fire and song, roasting the wingèd throng till they be crisp, nut-brown, and rich with fat. Here feast they all together, in fellowship and rite, as though at some great faire where man and moth alike are destin'd to commune. What saith this banquet of worme, of ant, of moth? That Nature, stern though she appeareth, is yet a tender mother; that in the barren sand she spreadeth a table, in the hollow roote she hideth bread, in the wing of night she provideth flesh. The stranger may mock, yet the wise man shall reverence: for he that tasteth these meates tasteth the very bounty of the earth unclad, and learneth that where man hath faith, no desert is desolate.
Source: tatoeba (13414848)