The moth beholds not d**h as forth he flies into the splendor of the living flame
The thirsty heart to crystal water tries, heeds not the shaft, nor fears the hunter's aim
The timid bird, returning from above to join his mate, deems not the net is nigh
Unto the light, the fount, and to my love, seeing the flame, the shaft, the chains, I fly
So high a torch, love-lighted in the skies, consumes my soul; and with this bow divine
Of piercing sweetness, what terrestrial vies? this net of dear delight imprisons mine
And I to my last day have this desire: be mine thine arrows, love, and mine thy fire