The poem
LIKE winds or waters were her ways: The flowing tides, the airy streams, Are troubled not by any dreams; They know the circle of their days.
Like winds or waters were her ways: They heed not immemorial cries; They move to their high destinies Beyond the little voice that prays.
She passed into her secret goal, And left behind a soul that trod In darkness, knowing not of God, But craving for its sister soul.