[4] Hamilton's first miscellaneous poems appeared in 1878, and attracted no notice whatever; and it was only with the publication of The New Medusa that his poetry began to receive attention.

Robert Browning was an influence, but Lee-Hamilton refined the art of the dramatic monologue, and there is a restless imagination to his sonnets.

In longer poems of collections such as the New Medusa (1882), there are narratives and dramatic monologues that explore the darker side of life; as in Browning, lust, jealousy, and fear predominate.

By the following year (1874) all hope of recovery seemed gone; and thus, at the age of twenty-nine, this promising young diplomatist and budding poet had to renounce all his ambitions and try to resign himself to a lingering death.

At any rate the original diagnosis of his case had been far too pessimistic, for at long last, and dating, I think, from the time when the family left their Florence flat, and settled in the pleasant Villa Palmerino among vineyards and olive-groves a few miles away, certain signs of improvement began to appear in his general condition.

Then, still more gradually, with many throw-backs, power of movement returned, but it was only in 1894 that the miracle was completed, and Lee-Hamilton restored to the active world of men.

Surgical treatment in Switzerland cured him of one complaint, but his nerves were irretrievably shaken, and his heart became dangerously weak.

Still one did not lose hope, for there were frequent rallies; he even regained some power of movement, showed all his usual interest in men and things, enjoyed receiving his friends in the shady villa garden, and read much, although unable to hold a pen.

When spring merged into summer it became necessary to take him to some cooler spot within a day's journey from Florence; so the Baths of Lucca were chosen, and a hillside villa at some distance from his old quarters was found for him.

Yet during a brief rally just before his death, he spent several hours in explaining to a youthful poet – who was regretting his inability to write sonnets—the whole technique of the difficult art of which he himself was so perfect a master.

In fact, his last work was the wreath of sonnets, in memory of his lost child, that only appeared in print after he had been laid to rest beside her in Florence.

He died at Villa Pierotti, Bagni di Lucca, on the seventh of September, the day fixed for his return to the home he loved so well."