Round like an apple, deep like a cup,



yet all the king's horses cannot pull it up.

Until I am measured

I am not known

Yet how you will miss me

When I have flown

What does man love more than life,



fear more than death or mortal strife-




what the poor have, the rich require, 





and what contented men desire:





what misers spend, and spendthrifts save, 





and all men carry to the grave?