WJ:The Lost Thought

"When the flush of a new-born sun fell first on Eden's green and gold,
Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched with a stick in the mould;
And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart,
Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves, "It's pretty, but is it Art?"

from Rudyard Kipling's The Conundrum of the Workshops

Poetry: Poems of Acclaim

The Lost Thought

I felt a cleaving in my mind

As if my brain had split;

I tried to match it seam by seam,

But could not make it fit.

The thought behind I strove to join

Unto the thought before

But sequence ravelled out of reach

Like balls upon a floor.

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

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