On limestone quarried near the spot By his command these words are cut: Cast a cold eye On life, on death. Horseman, pass by!
I went out to the hazelwood because a fire was in my head.
Our own acts are isolated and one act does not buy absolution for another.
What's memory but the ash That chokes our fires that have begun to sink?
Nor dread nor hope attend a dying animal; a man awaits his end dreading and hoping all.
Think where man's glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.