Answer:
Walk on the living, they don't even mumble. Walk on the dead, they mutter and grumble.
Whoever makes it, tells it not. Whoever takes it, knows it not. Whoever knows it, wants it not
Half-way up the hill, I see you at last, lying beneath me with your sounds and sights. A city in the twilight, dim and vast, with smoking roofs, soft bells, and gleaming lights.
The land was white the seed was black it'll take a good scholar to riddle me that. What is it?
I'm white, I'm round, but not always around. Sometimes you see me, sometimes you don't.
I have two eyes in the front and a lot of eyes on my tail