It is better to be singed by the flame and suffer than not to know the experiences of living deeply. This seems to be the lesson in Helen A. Saxon’s verse below:
Hast singed thy pretty wings, poor moth?
Fret not; some moths there be
That wander all the weary night
Longing in vain to see
The light.
Hast touched the scorching flame, poor heart?
Grieve not; some hearts exist
That know not, grow not to be strong,
And weep not, having missed