A Woman Homer Sung

If any man drew nearWhen I was young,I thought, 'He holds her dear,'And shook with hate and fear.But oh, 'twas bitter wrongIf he could pass her byWith an indifferent eye.

Whereon I wrote and wrought,And now, being grey,I dream that I have broughtTo such a pitch my thoughtThat coming time can say,'He shadowed in a glassWhat thing her body was.'

For she had fiery bloodWhen I was young,

And trod so sweetly proudAs 'twere upon a cloud,A woman Homer sung,That life and letters seemBut an heroic dream.