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| Anonymous Photographer Morris Louis ca. 1945 photographic print Archives of American Art, Washington DC |
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| Morris Louis Untitled 1948 drawing Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Morris Louis Untitled 1949 drawing Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Anonymous Photographer Morris Louis with his Mother and Father ca. 1950 photographic print Archives of American Art, Washington, DC |
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| Morris Louis Aurora 1958 acrylic on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Morris Louis Tet 1958 acrylic on canvas Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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| Morris Louis Seal 1959 acrylic on canvas Phillips Collection, Washington DC |
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| Morris Louis Buskin 1959 acrylic on canvas Hirshhorn Museum, Washington DC |
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| Morris Louis Nexus II 1959 acrylic on canvas National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
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| Morris Louis Dalet Zayin 1959 acrylic on canvas National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
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| Morris Louis Point of Tranquility 1959-60 acrylic on canvas Hirshhorn Museum, Washington DC |
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| Morris Louis Gamma Pi 1960 acrylic on canvas Hirshhorn Museum, Washington DC |
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| Morris Louis Beta Upsilon 1960 acrylic on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Morris Louis Where 1960 acrylic on canvas Hirshhorn Museum, Washington DC |
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| Morris Louis Delta Theta 1961 acrylic on canvas Hirshhorn Museum, Washington DC |
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| Morris Louis Color Line 1961 acrylic on canvas Hirshhorn Museum, Washington DC |
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| Morris Louis Water Shot 1961 acrylic on canvas Blanton Museum of Art, Austin, Texas |
Revivals of Tristan
The loving cup was poisoned.
How is it that I knew?
Its drinkers before long –
Flagstad and Melchior
Or Fremstad and whoever,
Couple after couple
Drawn by the horseshoe magnet –
Lay quenched on the stage floor.
Small hands ached from applauding
A residue of song,
Highly pearly C's not wholly
Dissolved in that strong brew.
An old print: La Fenice
(The house burnt and rebuilt)
From center stage appears
Almost a bird – stalls each a
Copperplated feather;
Aisle a proud neck; the boxes
Blazing with glass and gilt
An outspread tail in tiers.
No "gods," no mortals – only
Those bright blank quizzing tracers
Anticipation aims
At the rekindled pair
For whom aigret and shako
Climb tonight's torchlit stair,
To fan whose flames the posters
Torn off like Tristan's bandage
In his delirium
Are pasted with fresh names.
Soon throughout Western Europe
Until the First World War
In every garret room
A highly motivated
Young would-be Isolde
Takes up the fatal score.
What did I want? A golder,
Emptier cup, a grail
Quite plain within. Whoever
Lifted it would quail;
The fires of that iris
Focus and draw him down.
He now becomes its pupil,
Thirsty for the moment
When the parched gold abyss
Upheld amid the din
Swallows the human image
And huge wings clap in bliss.