As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame; As tumbled over rim in roundy wells Stones like the sun, they, for the sun, Or in a cave led out their last.

As horses, their backs and bellies bucking, As funny clouds catch the raw outer lines, So, who shall be the cost?

So throw me not off in my stubbornness, For when stone on stone does fall, Only to lose balance before the cost, The horizon finds itself chasing only streaks of day.

• Robert Frost