Innocence (1997, Point Reyes)

Dost thou know who made thee? Gave thee life & bid thee feed, By the stream & o'er the mead; -William Blake, Songs of Innocence, The Lamb, 1785

The Windhover (1997, Yosemite)

I caught this morning morning's minion, king-     dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding     Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,     As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding     Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding Stirred for a bird,--the achieve of, the mastery of the thing! -Gerard Manley Hopkins, The Windhover

Past and Future (1997, Redwood)

Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind Cannot bear very much reality. Time past and time future What might have been and what has been Point to one end, which is always present. -T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets: Burnt Norton, 1935

To This Dog (1997, 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

Feeding the Flock (1997, French Alps)

For we were nurs'd upon the self-same hill, Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade and rill. -John Milton, Lycidas

Holding the Wind (1998, Kings Canyon)

Yet may I by no means my wearied mind Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore Since in a net I seek to hold the wind. -Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503-1542), Whoso List to Hunt

Rebekah (1998, Kings Canyon)

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty,     Wi' bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,     Wi' murd'ring pattle! -Robert Burns (1759-1796), To a Mouse on Turning Her up in Her Nest with the Plough, November, 1785

Hunter's Return (1998, Kings Canyon)

So when the Falcon high     Falls heavy from the Sky, She, having kill'd, no more does search, But on the next green Bow to pearch; -Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), The Picture of Little T. C. in a Prospect of Flowers

Sea God (1999, Point Reyes)

Let me snuff thee up, sea breeze! and whinny in thy spray. Forbid it, sea god! intercede for me with Neptune, O sweet Amphitrite, that no dull clod may fall on my coffin! Be mine the tomb that swallowed up Pharaoh and all his hosts; let me lie down with Drake where he sleeps in the sea. -Herman Melville, White Jacket, 1850

Evening Song (1999, Point Reyes)

Two fairer birds I yet did never see; The snow which doth the top of Pindus strew Did never whiter shew, Nor Jove himself, when he a swan would be For love of Leda, whiter did appear; -Edmund Spenser (c.1552-1599), Prothalamion

Angel's Flight (1999, Point Reyes)

For sure they did not seem To be begot of any earthly seed, But rather angels, or of angels' breed; -Edmund Spenser (c.1552-1599), Prothalamion

Flight of Imagination (1999, Carlsbad)

On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily. -William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Where the Bee Sucks, There Suck I, from The Tempest

Acrobats (1999, Carlsbad)

Now air is hushed, save where the weak-ey'd bat With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing,     Or where the beetle winds     His small but sullen horn, As oft he rises midst the twilight path, Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum: -William Collins (1721-1759), Ode to Evening

Question (1999, Guadalupe)

Dost thou know who made thee? Gave thee life, and bid thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? -William Blake (1757-1827), The Lamb, from Songs of Experience

Surprise (1999, Guadalupe)

They flee from me that sometime did me seek With naked foot stalking in my chamber. -Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503-1542), They Flee from Me That Sometime Did Me Seek

Flock of Nymphs (1999, New Orleans)

There in a meadow by the river's side A flock of nymphs I chancèd to espy, All lovely daughters of the flood thereby, With goodly greenish locks all loose untied As each had been a bride; -Edmund Spenser (c.1552-1599), Prothalamion

Glimpse of the Maiden (1999, New Orleans)

Like a high-born maiden         In a palace tower,     Soothing her love-laden         Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: -Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822), To a Skylark

Visitor (1999, New Orleans)

And every day, for food or play, Came to the mariners' hollo! -Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834), The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

Melodious Pain (2000, Point Reyes)

Thy spirit's sister, the lorn nightingale,     Mourns not her mate with such melodious pain; -Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822), Adonais

When I Embark (2000, Point Reyes)

Twilight and evening bell,     And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell,     When I embark; For though from out our bourne of Time and Place     The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face     When I have crossed the bar. -Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892), Crossing the Bar

Weight of the Hour (2000, Point Reyes)

A pard-like Spirit beautiful and swift--         A love in desolation masked--a power     Girt round with weakness; it can scarce uplift         The weight of the superincumbent hour.         It is a dying lamp, a falling shower,     A breaking billow;--even whilst we speak         Is it not broken? On the withering flower     The killing sun smiles brightly: on a cheek The life can burn in blood even while the heart may break. -Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822), Adonais

Pursuit (2000, Point Reyes)

Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose! I never thought to ask, I never knew: But, in my simple ignorance, suppose The self-same Power that brought me there brought you. -Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882), The Rhodora On Being Asked, Whence is The Flower?

Leisure (2000, South Carolina Shores)

What is this life if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare. No time to stand beneath the boughs And stare as long as sheep or cows. No time to see, when woods we pass, Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass. No time to see, in broad daylight, Streams full of stars like skies at night. No time to turn at Beauty's glance, And watch her feet, how they can dance. No time to wait till her mouth can Enrich that smile her eyes began. A poor life this if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare. -William Henry Davies (1871-1940), Leisure