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| Philips Koninck Extensive Landscape ca. 1650 oil on canvas Southampton City Art Gallery |
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| Gaspard Dughet Landscape ca. 1650 oil on canvas National Museum Cardiff, Wales |
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| Jacob van Ruisdael Rocky Landscape ca. 1650-60 oil on canvas Wallace Collection, London |
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| Claude Lorrain Landscape with Apollo and Mercury 1660 oil on canvas Wallace Collection, London |
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| Joseph Wright of Derby Virgil's Tomb, Sun breaking through a Cloud 1785 oil on canvas Ulster Museum, Belfast |
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| John Linnell Woody Landscape 1824 oil on panel Brighton and Hove Museums and Art Galleries |
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| Robert Collinson Stray Rabbits 1857 oil on panel Victoria & Albert Museum, London |
Poem
I watched an armory combing its bronze bricks
and in the sky there were glistening rails of milk.
Where had the swan gone, the one with the lame back?
Now mounting the steps
I enter my new home full
of grey radiators and glass
ashtrays full of wool.
Against the winter I must get a samovar
embroidered with basil leaves and Ukranian mottos
to the distant sound of wings, painfully anti-wind,
a little bit of the blue
summer air will come back
as the steam chuckles in
the monster's steamy attack
and I'll be happy here and happy there, full
of tea and tears. I don't suppose I'll ever get
to Italy, but I have the terrible tundra at least.
My new home will be full
of wood, roots and the like,
while I pace in a turtleneck
sweater, repairing my bike.
I watched the palisades shivering in the snow
of my face, which had grown preternaturally pure.
Once I destroyed a man's idea of himself to have him.
If I'd had a samovar then
I'd have made him tea
and as hyacinths grow from
a pot he would love me
and my charming room of tea cosies full of dirt
which is why I must travel, to collect the leaves.
O my enormous piano, you are not like being outdoors
though it is cold and you
are made of fire and wood!
I lift your lid and mountains
return, that I am good.
The stars blink like a hairnet that was dropped
on a seat and now it is lying in the alley behind
the theater where my play is echoed by dying voices.
I am really a woodcarver
and my words are love
which willfully parades in
its room, refusing to move.
– Frank O'Hara (1954)
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| William Dyce Scene in Arran ca. 1858-59 oil on panel Aberdeen Art Gallery |
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| Henry Brittan Willis Sunny Lane in Sussex ca. 1860 oil on panel Dover Collections, Kent |
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| William Bell Scott Ailsa Craig 1860 oil on canvas Yale Center for British Art |
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| Fredrik Marinus Kruseman Summer Landscape 1863 oil on panel National Trust, Nunnington Hall, Yorkshire |
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| Benjamin Williams Leader An English Hayfield 1878 oil on canvas Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery, West Midlands |
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| Charles Wyatt Warren Snowdon ca. 1970 oil on canvas Government Art Collection, London |
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| Cherryl Fountain The Spanish Garden, Mount Stewart, County Down ca. 1989-90 acrylic on canvas National Trust, Mount Stewart House, County Down |
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| Andrew Hope Flower's Barrow, Dorset 2008 acrylic on canvas Poole Hospital, Dorset |