Mourn, for with him we lose our last Chance to redeem the errors of the past. No more with dull assurance can we meet, Pointing to him, our critics-in-the-street. O friends, our chief art-oracle is mute: Mourn for the horse of living flesh and blood, The prototype by which we could refute All criticism while he stood. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO W.P.: 4 by GEORGE SANTAYANA THE BOATMAN by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI WEAVERS ALL by MINNIE KEITH BAILEY THE SEVEN OLD MEN; TO VICTOR HUGO by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE THE STEALING OF THE MARE; AN ARABIC EPIC OF THE TENTH CENTURY by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |