Insufficiency

There is no one beside thee, and no one above
thee;
Thou standest alone, as the nightingale sings!
Yet 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.

Say, what can I do for thee? . . weary thee . . grieve thee?
Lean on thy shoulder . . . new burdens to add? . .
Weep my tears over thee . . making thee sad?
Oh, hold me not—love me not! let me retrieve thee!
I love thee so, Dear, that I only can leave thee.