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| Gene Davis Untitled 1952 ink and wash on paper Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Untitled 1956 watercolor on paper Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Untitled 1957 oil on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Untitled 1962 acrylic on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Untitled 1974 screenprint Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Untitled 1976 screenprint Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Untitled 1977 ink, crayon and wash on paper Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Untitled 1979 acrylic on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Untitled 1979 acrylic on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Untitled 1980 lithograph Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Untitled 1980 screenprint Hirshhorn Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Untitled 1981 screenprint Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Untitled 1982 acrylic on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Untitled 1982 marker on paper Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Untitled 1982 pastel, crayon and marker on paper Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Untitled 1985 acrylic on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Jacob Kainen Gene Davis 1961 oil on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
from The Consolation of Philosophy
Happy that first white age! when wee
Lived by the Earths meere Charitie,
No soft luxurious Diet then
Had Effeminated men,
No other meat, nor wine had any
Than the Coarse Mast, or simple honey,
And by the Parents care layd up
Cheap Berries did the Children sup.
No pompous weare was in those dayes
Of gummie Silks, or Skarlet bayes,
Their beds were on some flowrie brink
And clear Spring-water was their drink.
The shadie Pine in the Suns heat
Was their Coole and known Retreat,
For then 'twas not cut down, but stood
The youth and glory of the wood.
The daring Sailer with his slaves
Then had not cut the swelling waves,
Nor for desire of forraign store
Seen any but his native shore.
No stirring Drum had scarr'd that age,
Nor the shrill Trumpets active rage,
No wounds by bitter hatred made
With warm bloud soil'd the shining blade;
For how could hostile madness arm
An age of love to publick harm?
When Common Justice none withstood,
Nor sought rewards for spilling bloud.
O that at length our age would raise
Into the temper of those dayes!
But (worse than Ætna's fires!) debate
And Avarice inflame our state.
Alas! who was it that first found
Gold hid of purpose under ground,
That sought out Pearles, and div'd to find
Such pretious perils for mankind!
– Boethius (AD 476-524), translated by Henry Vaughan (1654)