Photo & Poem Gallery

Polyhymnia, the Muse of sacred poetry, sacred hymn, dance, and eloquence.  Liederkranz Foundation, 6 East 87th Street.
Polyhymnia, the Muse of sacred poetry, sacred hymn, dance, and eloquence. Liederkranz Foundation, 6 East 87th Street.
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To the Muses

Whether on Ida's shady brow, 
         Or in the chambers of the East, 
The chambers of the sun, that now 
         From ancient melody have ceas'd; 

Whether in Heav'n ye wander fair, 
         Or the green corners of the earth, 

Bridgehampton  NY
Bridgehampton NY
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The Changing Light

The changing light at San Francisco
                        is none of your East Coast light
                                          none of your
                                                                pearly light of Paris
The light of San Francisco

The Year of the Ox
The Year of the Ox
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The Beauty of Things

To feel and speak the astonishing beauty of things – earth,
             stone and water,
Beast, man and woman, sun, moon and stars –
The blood-shot beauty of human nature, its thoughts,
              frenzies and passions,

Summer Sunday
Summer Sunday
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Lift Every Voice and Sing

Lift every voice and sing
Till earth and heaven ring,
Ring with the harmonies of Liberty;
Let our rejoicing rise
High as the listening skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,

The North Meadow
The North Meadow
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Distances

Swifts turn in the heights of the air; 
higher still turn the invisible stars. 
When day withdraws to the ends of the earth 
their fires shine on a dark expanse of sand. 

The North Meadow
The North Meadow
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Most Sweet It Is

Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes
To pace the ground, if path be there or none,
While a fair region round the traveller lies
Which he forbears again to look upon;
Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene,
The work of Fancy, or some happy tone

Central Park
Central Park
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A Nation's Strength

What makes a nation's pillars high
And its foundations strong?
What makes it mighty to defy
The foes that round it throng?
It is not gold. Its kingdoms grand
Go down in battle shock;
Its shafts are laid on sinking sand,
Not on abiding rock.

The Dakota
The Dakota
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That Little Beast

That pretty little beast, a poem,

  has a mind of its own.

Sometimes I want it to crave apples

  but it wants red meat.

Sometimes I want to walk peacefully

  on the shore

and it wants to take off all its clothes

  and dive in.