This is the last line of the poem. There he is in the previous line, burning himself with candle wax while here she goes about her daily life oblivious to his infatuation.
Plenty of guys are like Macbeth's proverbial cat, "letting I dare not wait upon I would" in matters of romance. Our protagonist is just like this. The pain of hot wax seems preferable to him, rather than face the possiblity of rejection.
Anna, we know will be all right. Somebody will dare to ask her out. Likely sombody with fewer "issues".
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