To dance their lives out in a single flight
Between the moonrise and the setting star?
Edith Wharton
INSUFFICIENCY
I
There is no one beside thee, and no one above thee;
Thou standest alone, as the nightingale sings!
And my words that would praise thee are impotent things,
For none can express thee, though all should approve thee.
I love thee so, dear, that I only can love thee.