Compensation

The moth beholds not death as forth he flies
  Into the splendor of the living flame;
  The hart athirst to crystal water hies,
  Nor heeds 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 doth prison mine;
  And I to life's last day have this desire--
  Be mine thine arrows, love, and mine thy fire.