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

And many a poor man that has roved Loved and thought himself beloved From a glad kindness cannot take his eyes.

When I think of all the books I have read, and of the wise words I have heard spoken, and of the anxiety I have given to parents and grandparents, and of the hopes that I have had, all life weighed in the scales of my own life seems to me a preparation for something that never happens.

Things fall apart; the center cannot hold.

If I make the lashes dark And the eyes more bright And the lips more scarlet, Or ask if all be right From mirror after mirror, No vanity's displayed: I'm looking for the face I had Before the world was made.

O but we dreamed to mend Whatever mischief seemed To afflict mankind, but now That winds of winter blow Learn that we were crack-pated when we dreamed.

The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.