Cast a cold eye on life, on death Horseman pass by

The mystical life is at the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write.

An intellectual hate is the worst.

Now as at all times I can see in the mind's eye, In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky With all their ancient faces like rain- beaten stones, And all their helms of silver hovering.

In life courtesy and self-possession, and in the arts style, are the sensible impressions of the free mind, for both arise out of a deliberate shaping of all things and from never being swept away, whatever the emotion into confusion or dullness.

Man has created death.

Ah, let us kiss each other's eyes,/And laugh our love away.