So have I seen a little silly Fly
Upon a blazing Taper dart and die.
The foolish Insect ravish’d with so bright
And fair a Glory, would devour the Light.
At first he wheels about the threatning Fire,
With a Career as fleet as his Desire.
This Ceremony past, he joins the same
In Hopes to be transform’d himself to Flame.
The fiery, circumambient Sparkles glow,
And vainly warn him of his Overthrow,
But resolute he’ll to Destruction go.
So mean-born Mortals, such as I, aspire,
And injure with unhallowed Desire,
The Glory we ought only to admire.
We little think of the intense fierce Flame,
That Gold alone is Proof against the same;
And that such Trash as we like drossy Lead,
Consume before it, and it strikes us dead.
From: http://www.bartleby.com/400/poem/248.html
Date: 1734
By: Benjamin Colman (1673-1747)
From Troubles of The World 