Less wont to cheer the artist than to chide;
And always in my heart I thought with pride
Some day to know him, and for him alone
Bring the fair finished work, that he might own—
“O friend, behold my full faith justified!”
Now he is dead! a man severe, they said
Who knew the critic; but around the spot
We call his grave, by some sweet memory led
Of kindred sweetness, violets have not
Refused to bloom; and one he had forgot