A WOMAN HOMER SUNG

If any man drew near

When I was young,

I thought,‘ He holds her dear,’

And shook with hate and fear.

But oh,‘ twas bitter wrong

If he could pass her by

With an indifferent eye.

Whereon I wrote and wrought,

And now, being grey,

I dream that I have brought

To such a pitch my thought

That coming time can say,

‘ He shadowed in a glass

What thing her body was.’

For she had fiery blood

When I was young,

And trod so sweetly proud

As‘ twere upon a cloud,

A woman Homer sung,

That life and letters seem

But an heroic dream.