Photo & Poem Gallery

The American eagle is not aware he is
the American eagle. He is never tempted
to look modest.

When orators advertise the American eagle’s
virtues, the American eagle is not listening.
This is his virtue.

This morning was something. A little snow
lay on the ground. The sun floated in a clear
blue sky. The sea was blue, and blue-green,
as far as the eye could see.
Scarcely a ripple. Calm. I dressed and went
for a walk—determined not to return

Day is done, gone the sun,
From the lake, from the hills, from the sky;
All is well, safely rest, God is nigh.

The sea is calm tonight.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!

A boat, beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July--

Children three that nestle near,
eagle eye and willing ear,
Pleased simple tale to hear--

Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
Sand there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Under the pines, on a summer's day,

I list to a whisper from far away.

And, lying low, with my half closed eyes,

Behold the beauty of fairer skies.

Some say 'tis the sound of the sighing sea,

Whose distant murmur steals over me;

II THE PINE OF MONTE MARIO AT ROME

I saw far off the dark top of a Pine
Look like a cloud--a slender stem the tie
That bound it to its native earth--poised high
'Mid evening hues, along the horizon line,

                                     Is it only when you're little
                               you know tigers live in your closet--
                               one with your shoes on his two ears,

Lines of lamp-light
Splinter the black water,
And all through
The dim park
Are lamps
Hanging among the trees.
But they are only like fire-flies
Pricking the darkness,
And I lean my body against it
And spread out my fingers