'YES, let Art go, if it must be
That with it men must starve —
If Music, Painting, Poetry
Spring from the wasted hearth!'
Yes, let Art go, till once again
Through fearless heads and hands
The toil of millions and the pain
Be passed from out the lands:
Till from the few their plunder falls
To those who've toiled and earned
But misery's hopeless intervals
From those who've robbed and spurned.
Yes, let Art go, without a fear,
Like Autumn flowers we burn,
For, with her reawakening year,
Be sure she will return! —
Return, but greater, nobler yet
Because her laurel crown
With dew and not with blood is wet,
And as our Queen sit down!
The greatest art man can ever see is nature. The greatest Artist -God made everything in a unique way. I love art and thus the poem.
As if art should not participate in redistribution & only exist once we're all in heaven. I think he was a radical materialist socialist, yet still a believer in the afterlife.
Materialistic man's pursuits have killed beauty in Nature and Art by destroying all natural things of best and beautiful in the world! Ugliness now due to pollution by advanced technology is raising its head everywhere plunging the world in oblivion like autumn season and winter gloom too will follow before spring of new hope of Art will come later after realisation dawn on man of those precious gems man cannot ignore ever...!
For, with her reawakening year, Be sure she will return! — She will return yes she must return to her love; beautiful to read the poem
The last one: who assisted his suicide but was not convicted of any crime. Thank you for your attention. That was why he lived so short, tuberculosis must be terrible disease in these times, remember John Keats? He died also of tuberculosis. at a very young age
What I cite from his Bio here: During a massive and (probably fatal) haemorrhage caused by tuberculosis, Adams shot himself at a boarding house in Margate. He had long carried a pistol for this purpose. He was survived by his second wife, Edith (née Goldstone) ,
How his life ended very tragically, just read what I cite here, thank you beforehand:
THREE: but Adams perceived, as few did in those times, the depth of poverty and misery of a large part of the British nation, in an age before the introduction of unemployment insurance and old-age pensions
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Art is hard, The artist suffers, mostly alone. The best ones, and most, die poor and without fair recognition until post humous.