Continue, Stranger, on the way you came:
Ignore these bones, sad Corydon’s, who fled
Farther and farther from the thought of blame:
Be like the mica, hard and bright; be dead.
Stop, Friend, and ask those two young men from Rome
Who learned to love, the best way to begin;
Escaping pleasure, here they fought with sin,
And in a sandstorm triumphed: now are home.