Does the imagination dwell the most Upon a woman won or a woman lost? - William Butler Yeats

May she be granted beauty and yet not
Beauty to make a stranger’s eye distraught,
Or hers before a looking-glass, for such,
Being made beautiful overmuch,
Consider beauty a sufficient end,
Lose natural kindness and maybe
The heart-revealing intimacy
That chooses right, and never find a friend.

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

Everything exists, everything is true and the earth is just a bit of dust beneath our feet.