Second Fig
———–
My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But, ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—
It gives a lovely light!

The light is soft and pure;
It hangs like a flower
And where it will fall we cannot know
It will take its chance at the hour.
And I shall sit awhile alone,
Alone, in the light;
I will see the moistened vine bend down
To touch the earth and go out of sight.

• Edna St Vincent Millay