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 O! '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.