LX

Live well! Be wary of this life, I say;
Do not o'erload yourself with righteousness.
Behold! the sword we polish in excess,
We gradually polish it away.


LXI

God who created metal is the same
Who will devour it. As the warriors ride
With iron horses and with iron pride--
Come, let us laugh into the merry flame.


LXII

But for the grandest flame our God prepares
The breast of man, which is the grandest urn;
Yet is that flame so powerless to burn
Those butterflies, the swarm of little cares.


LXIII

And if you find a solitary sage
Who teaches what is truth--ah, then you find
The lord of men, the guardian of the wind,