Nor did he ever turn in on himself as artist, and ask how he wrote poetry or how he built up a pattern.

What he did as artist was to _make_, and when he had made one thing to make another.

He ran along like Pheidippides to his goal, without halting for one instant to consider the methods of his running.

And all his life long this was his way.
Rossetti described a picture in a sonnet with admirable skill, so admirable that we say to ourselves--"Give me the picture or the sonnet, not both.

They blot out one another." But to describe a picture is not to write about art.