In these high thoughts she will outlive her sorrow.
Why should despair be?
Since, distinct above Man's wickedness and folly, flies the wind And floats the cloud, free transport for our soul Out of its fleshly durance dim and low,-- Since disembodied soul anticipates (Thought-borne as now, in rapturous unrestraint) Above all crowding, crystal silentness, Above all noise, a silver solitude:-- Surely, where thought so bears soul, soul in time May permanently bide, "assert the wise," There live in peace, there work in hope once more-- O nothing doubt, Philemon! Greed and strife, Hatred and cark and care, what place have they In yon blue liberality of heaven?
How the sea helps! How rose-smit earth will rise Breast-high thence, some bright morning, and be Rhodes! Heaven, earth and sea, my warrant--in their name, Believe--o'er falsehood, truth is surely sphered, O'er ugliness beams beauty, o'er this world Extends that realm where, "as the wise assert," Philemon, thou shalt see Euripides Clearer than mortal sense perceived the man! We understand that she has drunk deep of Socrates, that her spiritual sense reached onward to the Platonic Socrates.

In this supersensuous world of thought she is quieted out of the weakness which made her miserable over the fall of Athens; and in the quiet, Browning, who will lift his favourite into perfectness, adds to her spiritual imagination the dignity of that moral judgment which the intellect of genius gathers from the facts of history.

In spite of her sorrow, she grasps the truth that there was justice in the doom of Athens.

Let justice have its way.
Let the folk die who pulled her glory down.

This is her prophetic strain, the strength of the Hebrew in the Greek.
And then the prophet in the woman passes, and the poet in her takes the lyre.