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| Kenneth Noland Inside 1950 oil on panel Phillips Collection, Washington DC |
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| Kenneth Noland Untitled 1952 oil on board Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Kenneth Noland In the Garden 1952 oil on panel Phillips Collection, Washington DC |
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| Kenneth Noland Split 1956 acrylic on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Kenneth Noland Song 1958 acrylic on canvas Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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| Kenneth Noland Untitled 1958 acrylic on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Kenneth Noland Crystal 1959 acrylic on canvas Ulster Museum, Belfast |
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| Kenneth Noland April 1960 acrylic on canvas Phillips Collection, Washington DC |
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| Kenneth Noland Cycle 1960 acrylic on canvas Phillips Collection, Washington DC |
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| Kenneth Noland Gift 1961 acrylic on canvas Tate Modern, London |
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| Kenneth Noland Cantabile 1961 acrylic on canvas Walker Art Center, Minneapolis |
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| Kenneth Noland Drought 1962 acrylic on canvas Tate Modern, London |
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| Kenneth Noland Shoot 1964 acrylic on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Kenneth Noland Trans Shift 1964 acrylic on canvas Guggenheim Museum, New York |
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| Kenneth Noland Saturday Morning 1965 acrylic on canvas Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge |
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| Kenneth Noland New Day 1967 acrylic on canvas Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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| Kenneth Noland Slow Rise 1968 acrylic on canvas Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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| Kenneth Noland Untitled 1973 screenprint Walker Art Center, Minneapolis |
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| Kenneth Noland Blush 1978 lithograph Walker Art Center, Minneapolis |
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| Kenneth Noland (designer) and Sadie Curtis of the Navajo Nation (weaver) Reflection 1983 wool tapestry Denver Art Museum |
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| Kenneth Noland (designer) and Irene Clarke of the Navajo Nation (weaver) Rainbow 1990 wool tapestry Denver Art Museum |
from Nike
The lie shone in her face before she spoke it.
Moon-battered, cloud-torn peaks, mills, multitudes
Implied. A floating sphere
Her casuist had at most to suck his pen,
Write of Unrivalled by truth's own
For it to dawn upon me. Near the gate
A lone iris was panting, purple-tongued.
I thought of my village, of tonight's Nabucco
She would attend, according to the lie,
Bemedalled at the royal right elbow. High
already on entr'acte kümmel, hearing as always
Through her ears the sad waltz of the slaves,
I held my breath in pity for the lie
Which nobody would believe unless I did.
Mines (unexploded from the last one) lent
Drama to its rainbow surface tension.
Noon struck. Far off, a cataract's white thread
Kept measuring the slow drop into the gorge.
I thought of his forge and crutch who hobbled
At her prayer earthward. What he touched bloomed.
Fire-golds, oil-blacks.
– James Merrill (1969)