The Hand of Art here torpid lies That wav'd th' essential Form of Grace, Here death has clos'd the curious eyes That saw the manners in the face. If Genius warm thee, Reader, stay, If Merit touch thee, shed a tear, Be Vice and Dulness far away Great Hogarth's honour'd Dust is here. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MEMORIAL TO D.C.: 5. ELEGY by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY TO A WILD DUCK by BERNICE GIBBS ANDERSON A LOVE BARGAINE by JOSEPH BEAUMONT TO HELEN KELLER by TOSCAN BENNETT THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 100. AGE: 1 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 103. WRITTEN AT FLORENCE: 1 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE MARCH OF THE REGIMENT, 1861 by HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL THE BUSTS OF GOETHE AND SCHILLER IN WALHALLA by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER |