Petrarch - Sonnet XVII lyrics

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 d**h-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.