Of woes unnumbered, heavenly goddess, sing!'"

The three books stood on the bookshelf in the schoolroom, the thin
Shakespeare in diamond print, the small brown leather Milton, the very
small fat Pope's _Iliad_ in the red cover. Mark gave them to her for her
own.

She made Catty put her bed between the two windows, and Mark made a
bookshelf out of a piece of wood and some picture cord, and hung it
within reach. She had a happy, excited feeling when she thought of the
three books; it made her wake early. She read from five o'clock till
Catty called her at seven, and again after Catty had tucked her up and
left her, till the white light in the room was grey.

She learnt _Lycidas_ by heart, and

"I thought I saw my late espoused wife
Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,"--

and the bits about Satan in _Paradise Lost_. The sound of the lines gave
her the same nice feeling that she had when Mrs. Propart played the March
in Scipio after Evening Service. She tried to make lines of her own that
went the same way as the lines in Milton and Shakespeare and Pope's
_Iliad_. She found out that there was nothing she liked so much as making
these lines. It was nicer even than playing the Hungarian March. She
thought it was funny that the lines like Pope's _Iliad_ came easiest,
though they had to rhyme.

"Silent he wandered by the sounding sea," was good, but the Greek line
that Mark showed her went: "Be d'akeon para thina poluphloisboio