"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
- Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
- Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
- Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
- And summer's lease hath all too short a date;
- Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
- And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
- And every fair from fair sometime declines,
- By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd;
- But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
- Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
- Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
- When in eternal lines to time thou growest;
- So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
- So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
William Shakespeare (1564-1616)