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The moon has awoken, With the sleep of the sun. The light has been broken, The spell has begun.

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees. The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas. The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, And the highwayman came riding— Riding—riding— The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

-- Alfred Noyes

Time Transfixed, Royal Caribbean, undated.

Daylight and Moonlight

In broad daylight, and at noon, Yesterday I saw the moon Sailing high, but faint and white, As a school-boy's paper kite.

In broad daylight, yesterday, I read a Poet's mystic lay; And it seemed to me at most As a phantom, or a ghost.

But at length the feverish day Like a passion died away, And the night, serene and still, Fell on village, vale, and hill.

Then the moon, in all her pride, Like a spirit glorified, Filled and overflowed the night With revelations of her light.

And the Poet's song again Passed like music through my brain; Night interpreted to me All its grace and mystery.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Time Tunnel, undated.

Leaves of Grass, undated.

Ode to Walt Whitman, undated.

I heard you, solemn-sweet pipes of the organ, as last Sunday morn I pass'd the church; Winds of autumn!—as I walk'd the woods at dusk, I heard your long-stretch'd sighs, up above, so mournful; I heard the perfect Italian tenor, singing at the opera—I heard the soprano in the midst of the quartet singing; …Heart of my love!—you too I heard, murmuring low, through one of the wrists around my head; Heard the pulse of you, when all was still, ringing little bells last night under my ear.

-- Walt Whitman

Untitled, International Crane Foundation, Baraboo, Wisconsin, undated.

Dusk, undated.

The day was falling, and the darkening air Released earth's creatures from their toils, while I, I only, faced the bitter road and bare My Master led. I only, must defy The powers of pity, and the night to be.

So thought I, but the things I came to see, Which memory holds, could never thought forecast.

O Muses high! O Genius, first and last! Memories intense! Your utmost powers combine To meet this need. For never theme as mine Strained vainly, where your loftiest nobleness Must fail to be sufficient.

-- Dante Alighieri, Inferno, Canto II

Is This a Dagger Which I See Before Me?, undated.

Untitled, undated.

The weary sun hath made a golden set And by the bright tract of his fiery car Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow.

Ghost, undated.

Untitled, undated.

Dream, Chicago, undated.