The true haunts of the poetic powers, Arthur Hugh Clough wrote to his friend Matthew Arnold, are no more upon Pindus or Parnassus but in the blank and desolate streets, and upon the solitary bridges of the midnight city, where Guilt is, and wild Temptation, and the dire compulsion of what has once been done.. There walks the discrowned Apollo, with unstrung lyre. "Mari Magno," written in the last.
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