[edit] Art

WHAT'S ART? It is the moving Hand of Sorrow
 Outlining the perspective of a morrow
That never comes. It is that mute surprise,
Of wonder-light, glimpsed in a dead man's eyes -
Time's brief reflex when its old mirror-glass
Holds up the night to let a hurried sunset pass
Where, crowded on their thresholds in some fright,
The stars in bright discussion stand all night!
It is the blush and haunting loveliness
Of senses that we sometimes half-possess
And oft, while groping in the dark, express.