perhaps the most delightful nonsense, for which, I fear, this great
painter is partly responsible, may be found in a recent poem addressed to
the memory of my old friend, Simeon Solomon:--

More of Rossetti? Yes:
You follow'd than Burne-Jones,
Your depth of colour his
than that of monochromes!
Yes; amber lilies poured, I say,
A joy for thee, than poet's bay.

But while true art refines
and often stimulates,
ART does, at times, I say,
sit grief within our gates!
Art causes men to weep at times--
If you may heed these falt'ring rhymes.

A small volume of lyrics once sent to me for review afforded another
flower for my garland:--

Where in the spring-time leaves are wet,
Oh, lay my love beneath the shades,
Where men remember to forget,
And are forgot in Hades.

But I have given enough examples for what would form Part I. of the
English anthology. Part II. would consist of really bad verses from
really great poetry.