On limestone quarried near the spot By his command these words are cut: Cast a cold eye On life, on death. Horseman, pass by!

Life moves out of a red flare of dreams Into a common light of common hours, Until old age brings the red flare again.

A man in his own secret meditation / Is lost amid the labyrinth that he has made / In art or politics.

But was there ever dog that praised his fleas?

In dreams begin responsibilitiy.

Never to have lived is best, ancient writers say. Never to have drawn the breath of life, never to have looked into the eye of day; The second best's a gay goodnight and quickly turn away.

Come let us mock at the great That had such burdens on the mind And toiled so hard and late To leave some monument behind, Nor thought of the leveling wind.