Kipling

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?”

- Richard Kipling, The Conundrum of the Workshops.

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