SONNET
Son animali al mondo di si altera

HE COMPARES HIMSELF TO A MOTH.

  Creatures there are in life of such keen sight
  That no defence they need from noonday sun,
  And others dazzled by excess of light
  Who issue not abroad till day is done,
  And, with weak fondness, some because 'tis bright,
  Who in the death-flame for enjoyment run,
  Thus proving theirs a different virtue quite--
  Alas! of this last kind myself am one;
  For, of this fair the splendour to regard,
  I am but weak and ill--against late hours
  And darkness gath'ring round--myself to ward.
  Wherefore, with tearful eyes of failing powers,
  My destiny condemns me still to turn
  Where following faster I but fiercer burn.

  MACGREGOR.