Sonnet XVII
SONNET XVII.
Son animali al mondo di sì altera.
HE COMPARES HIMSELF TO A MOTH.
Creatures there are in life of such keen sightThat no defence they need from noonday sun,And others dazzled by excess of lightWho 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 hoursAnd darkness gath'ring round—myself to ward.Wherefore, with tearful eyes of failing powers,My destiny condemns me still to turnWhere following faster I but fiercer burn.
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