"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
- Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
- Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy,
- Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly?
- Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?
- If the true concord of well-tuned sounds
- By unions married, do offend thine ear,
- They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
- In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.
- Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,
- Strikes each in each my mutual ordering;
- Resembling sire and child and happy mother,
- Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing;
- Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one,
- Sings this to thee, `thou single wilt prove none.'
William Shakespeare (1564-1616)