Page:Poems Rossetti.djvu/143

"This Homer felt, who gave his men
 With glory but a transient state:
His very Jove could not reverse
  Irrevocable fate.

"Uncertain all their lot save this—
 Who wins must lose, who lives must die:
All trodden out into the dark
  Alike, all vanity."

She scarcely answered when I paused
 But rather to herself said: "One
Is here," low-voiced and loving,"Yea,
  Greater than Solomon."

So both were silent, she and I:
 She laid her work aside, and went
Into the garden-walks, like spring,
  All gracious with content;

A little graver than her wont,
 Because her words had fretted me;
Not warbling quite her merriest tune
  Bird-like from tree to tree.

I chose a book to read and dream:
 Yet half the while with furtive eyes
Marked how she made her choice of flowers
  Intuitively wise,