As winds come whispering lightly from the West, Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene.

I see before me the gladiator lie.

Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart.

I speak not of men's creeds—they rest between Man and his Maker.

The busy have no time for tears.

Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.

My hair is grey, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have grown from sudden fears.