> 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?’
— Rudyard Kipling, The Conundrum of the Workshops [1]
[1] https://poets.org/poem/conundrum-workshops
> 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?’
— Rudyard Kipling, The Conundrum of the Workshops [1]
[1] https://poets.org/poem/conundrum-workshops