To My Good Friend W. T. H. Howe

Friend, for the sake of loves we hold in common,
  The love of books, of paintings, rhyme and fiction;
  And for the sake of that divine affliction,
  The love of art, passing the love of woman;--
  By which all life's made nobler, superhuman,
  Lifting the soul above, and, without friction
  Of Time, that puts failure in his prediction,--
  Works to some end through hearts that dreams illumine:
  To you I pour this Cup of Dreams--a striver,
  And dreamer too in this sad world,--unwitting
  Of that you do, the help that still assureth,--
  Lifts up the heart, struck down by that dark driver,
  Despair, who, on Life's pack-horse--effort--sitting,
  Rides down Ambition through whom Art endureth.