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...SORROWING LOVE by KATHERINE MANSFIELD THE SEEDLING by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR A DIRGE (1) by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS TO MR. GAY, WHO WROTE HIM A CONGRATULATORY LETTER ON FINISHING HOUSE by ALEXANDER POPE SONNET: 29 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE POWER OF MUSIC by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH PSALM 86 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: A DREAM OF GOOD by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |