In this way, large building projects of potentially major civic importance are delivered into the hands of competent but unimaginative firms. The assumption is: Anyone can do it. Just follow the guidelines.

This system is based upon the catastrophic misconception that architectural values can be objectively quantified. From this initial mistake, erroneous ideas accumulate: architecture is the production of images; discrimination among images is entirely a matter of taste; one person's taste is as good as another's; the most popular image (or as it usually works out, the least unpopular image) must be the best building.

But of course, architecture is not a matter of images. It is the relationship of visual and spatial perceptions to conceptual abstractions. Or as Frank Lloyd Wright once put it, ``Architecture is the scientific art of making structure express ideas.''


--``Don't Rebuild. Reimagine.'', The New York Times, September 8, 2002.





Caress (Zion)

Helen, thy beauty is to me
    Like those Nicéan barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
    That weary, way-worn wanderer bore
    To his own native shore.

-Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849),
To Helen





Voiceless Fountain (Zion)

    Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains,
        And feeds her grief with his rememberd lay;
    And will no more reply to winds or fountains,
        Or amorous birds perched on the young green spray,
        Or herdsman's horn, or bell at closing day;

-Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822),
Adonais





Blind with Tears (Zion)

    And Pleasure, blind with tears, led by the gleam
        Of her own dying smile instead of eyes,--
        Came in slow pomp;--the moving pomp might seem
Like pageantry of mist on an autumnal stream.

-Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822),
Adonais





Starry Night (Zion)

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,
    Star-inwrought!
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;
Kiss her until she be wearied out,
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand--
    Come, long-sought!

-Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822),
To Night





Elfland (Hawai)

O, hark, O, hear! how thin and clear,
    And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O, sweet and far from cliff and scar
    The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

-Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892),
The Splendor Falls





Happy Boughs (Hawaii)

Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
    Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;

-John Keats (1795-1821),
Ode on a Grecian Urn





Dark Sails (Hawaii)

    The breath whose might I have invoked in song
        Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven
    Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng
        Whose sails were never to the tempest given.
        The massy earth and spherèd skies are riven!
    I am borne darkly, fearfully afar!
        Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of heaven,
    The soul of Adonais, like a star,
Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.

-Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822),
Adonais





Lost Angel (Hawaii)

        Lost angel of a ruined paradise!
    She knew not 'twas her own,--as with no stain
She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain.

-Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822),
Adonais





Longing (Hawaii)

I long for scenes where man has never trod,
    A place where woman never smiled or wept--
There to abide with my Creator, God,
    And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie,
The grass below--above the vaulted sky.

-John Clare (1793-1864), I am,
written while he was confined in the General Lunatic
Asylum in Northampton, where he spent about the last
third of his life.





Kindling the Universe (Shenandoah)

    That light whose smile kindles the universe,
        That beauty in which all things work and move,
    That benediction which the eclipsing curse
        Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love
        Which, through the web of being blindly wove
    By man and beast and earth and air and sea,
        Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of
    The fire for which all thirst, now beams on me,
Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.

-Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822),
Adonais





Yearnings in the Night (Shenandoah)

I can give not what men call love,
    But wilt thou accept not
The worship the heart lifts above
    And the Heavens reject not,--
The desire of the moth for the star,
    Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
    From the sphere of our sorrow?

-Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822),
To __





Passion of the Night (Shenandoah)

I remember, I remember,
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky;

-Thomas Hood (1799-1845),
I Remember, I Remember





Dancer (Shenandoah)

O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,
How can we know the dancer from the dance?

-William Butler Yeats (1865-1939),
Among School Children, 1927





Longing Heart (Shenandoah)

And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair,
    And with joy that is almost pain
My heart goes back to wander there,
And among the dreams of the days that were,
    I find my lost youth again.
        And the strange and beautiful song,
        The groves are repeating it still:
    "A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882),
My Lost Youth





Trance (New Orleans)

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
    Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared,
    Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:

-John Keats (1795-1821),
Ode on a Grecian Urn





Sound and Fury (New York)

The knotty forestick laid apart,
And filled between with curious art
The ragged brush; then, hovering near,
We watched the first red blaze appear,
Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam
On whitewashed wall and sagging beam,
Until the old, rude-furnished room
Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom;

-John Greenleaf Whittier (1807 - 1892),
Snow-Bound; A Winter Idyl





Glorious Phantom (New York)

    from which a glorious Phantom may
Burst, to illumine our tempestuous day.

-Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822),
England in 1819





Dying Light (New York)

    "Leave me not wild and drear and comfortless,
        As silent lightning leaves the starless night!
    Leave me not!" cried Urania. Her distress
Roused Death: Death rose and smiled, and met her vain caress.

-Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822),
Adonais





Soft Light (Honolulu)

            In its stream immersed,
    The lamps of heaven flash with a softer light;
        All baser things pant with life's sacred thirst,
    Diffuse themselves, and spend in love's delight
The beauty and the joy of their renewèd might.

-Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822),
Adonais





Gaze (Honolulu)

    So, purposing each moment to retire,
    She lingered still, Meantime, across the moors,
    Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire
    For Madeline. Beside the portal doors,
    Buttressed from moonlight, stands he, and implores
    All saints to give him sight of Madeline,
    But for one moment in the tedious hours,
    That he might gaze and worship all unseen;
Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss--in sooth such things have been.

-John Keats (1795-1821),
The Eve of St. Agnes





Kiss in the Night (New Orleans)

    "Stay yet awhile! speak to me once again!
        Kiss me, so long but as a kiss may live!
    And in my heartless breast and burning brain
        That word, that kiss, shall all thoughts else survive,
        With food of saddest memory kept alive,
    Now though art dead, as if it were a part
        Of thee, my Adonais! I would give
    All that I am, to be as though now art:--
But I am chained to Time, and cannot thence depart.

-Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822),
Adonais







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