Two Moons (Baja)

Secure, with only two moons listening, Until the whole harmonious landscape rang -Edwin Arlington Robinson, Mr. Flood's Party

A Celestial Thought (Yosemite)

Happy those early days! when I Shined in my angel-infancy. Before I understood this place Appointed for my second race, or taught my soul to fancy ought But a white, celestial thought, When yet I had not walked above A mile or two, from my first love, And looking back (at that short space) Could see a glimpse of his bright face; -Henry Vaughan, The Retreat

Folding Wings (Redwood)

With the landless gull, that at sunset folds her wings and is rocked to sleep between billows; -Herman Melville, Moby-Dick, 1851

Temple (Redwood)

What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape   Of deities or mortals, or of both,     In Temple or the dales of Arcady? -John Keats, Ode on a Grecian Urn

Soft Murmur (French Alps)

and again I hear These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs With a soft inland murmur. -William Wordsworth, Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, 1798

Melting Remembrance (French Alps)

Cold in the earth -- and fifteen wild Decembers From those brown hills have melted into spring. -Emily Brontë, Remembrance, 1846

Evening Star (French Alps)

And from this constant light, so regular And so far seen, the House itself, by all Who dwelt within the limits of the vale, Both old and young, was named The Evening Star. -William Wordsworth, A Pastoral Poem, 1800

Descending Glow (French Alps)

Meanwhile the sun paus'd ere it should alight, Over the horizon of the mountains--Oh, How beautiful is sunset, when the glow Of Heaven descends upon a land like thee, -Percy Bysshe Shelley, Julian and Maddalo (excerpt), 1824

Mountain Flames (French Alps)

Bursting through these dark mountains like the flame Of lightning through the tempest; -Percy Bysshe Shelley, Mont Blanc, 1817

To This Dog (French Alps)

Therefore to this dog will I, Tenderly not scornfully,   Render praise and favour! With my hand upon his head, Is my benediction said   Therefore, and for ever. -Elizabeth Barrett Browning, To Flush, My Dog, 1844

Passing in the Night (Paris)

Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, Only a signal shown and distant voice in the darkness; So the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and silence. -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Tales of a Wayside Inn, Part III, The Theologian's Tale, 1873

Face of Silence (Rodin Museum, Paris)

Thou still unravished bride of quietness,   Thou foster-child of silence and slow time -John Keats, Ode on a Grecian Urn

Swayed to Music (Paris)

O body swayed to music, O brightening glance, How can we know the dancer from the dance? -William Butler Yeats, Among School Children, 1927

Rage (SF Bay)

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. -Dylan Thomas, Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night

Reconciliation of Light and Darkness (SF Bay)

But here, where light and darkness reconciled Held earth between them as a weanling child Between the balanced hands of death and birth, Even as they held the new-born shape of earth When first life trembled in her limbs and smiled, Here hope might think to find what hope were worth. -Algernon Charles Swinburne, In the Bay, 1878

Visible Darkness (New York)

As one great Furnace flam'd, yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible -John Milton, Paradise Lost, 1667

Possibilities (Washington, D.C.)

I dwell in Possibilities-- A fairer House than Prose-- More numerous of Windows-- Superior -- for Doors. -Emily Dickinson, The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, No. 657, 1862

Secret Springs (Cornell)

The everlasting universe of things Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves, Now dark--now glittering--now reflecting gloom-- Now lending splendour, where from secret springs The source of human thought its tribute brings Of waters--with a sound but half its own, Such as a feeble brook will oft assume, In the wild woods, among the mountains lone, Where waterfalls around it leap for ever, Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves. -Percy Bysshe Shelley, Mont Blanc, 1817