He had shaved off his beard, his beard, like Apollo's, of honey;
His hair was quite short, he had lost his habitual frown,
He was looking quite brown.
He told me he never exhibited now in a gallery;
Commissions were filling his time and engaging his heart;
What was more, he observed, he was making a regular salary,
So I asked him to tell me the worst and explain from the start
What had happened to Art.
"I have banished Design," he informed me, "and thoughts are all duller
Than Beauty, and Beauty is Art; but no critic can grouse