She Feared No Danger, For She Knew

The First Is The Law, The Last Prerogative.

The Fates But Only Spin The Coarser Clue; The Finest Of The Wool Is Left For You.

Beauty, Like Ice, Our Footing Does Betray; Who Can Tread Sure On The Smooth, Slippery Way: Pleased With The Surface, We Glide Swiftly On, And See The Dangers That We Cannot Shun.

There's A Proud Modesty In Merit; Averse From Asking, And Resolved To Pay Ten Times The Gifts It Asks.

Home Is The Sacred Refuge Of Our Life.