  K Kind words, that greater kindness still implied From one unused to praise, for one unknown To him and to the world where he had grown 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 |
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