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| Gene Davis Saber Dance 1952 ink and wash on paper Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Bay 1957 oil on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Limelight / Sounds of Grass 1960 acrylic on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Peeping Wall 1960 acrylic on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Wall Stripes no. 3 1962 acrylic on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Red Witch 1966 acrylic on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Apricot Ripple 1968 screenprint Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Graf Zeppelin 1969 screenprint Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Pow-wow 1969 screenprint Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Tarzan 1969 screenprint Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Signal 1973 screenprint Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Acrylic no. 6 1975 acrylic on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Royal Canoe 1977 screenprint Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Prince Albert 1978 acrylic on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Tree House 1981 ink and wash on paper Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Banjo 1981 lithograph Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Gene Davis Voodoo 1984 screenprint Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
from The Consolation of Philosophy
A blissful lyf, a paisible and a swete,
Ledden the peples in the former age.
They helde hem payed of the fruites that they ete,
Which that the feldes yave hem by usage;
They ne were nat forpampred with outrage.
Unknowen was the quern and ek the melle;
They eten mast, hawes, and swich pounage,
And dronken water of the colde welle.
Yit nas the ground nat wounded with the plough,
But corn up-sprong, unsowe of mannes hond,
The which they gnodded and eete nat half enough.
No man yit knew the forwes of his lond,
No man the fyr out of the flint yit fond,
Unkorven and ungrobbed lay the vyne;
No man yit in the morter spyces grond
To clarre ne to sause of galantyne.
No mader, welde, or wood no litestere
Ne knew; the flees was of his former hewe;
No flesh ne wiste offence of egge or spere.
Ne coyn ne knew man which is fals or trewe,
No ship yit karf the wawes grene and blewe,
No marchaunt yit ne fette outlandish ware.
No batails trompes for the werres folk ne knewe,
Ne toures heye and walles rounde or square.
What sholde it han avayled to werreye?
Ther lay no profit, ther was no richesse;
But cursed was the tyme, I dare wel saye,
That men first dide hir swety bysinesse
To gobbe up metal, lurkinge in darknesse.
And in the riveres first gemmes soghte.
Allas, than sprong up all the cursednesse
Of covetyse, that first our sorwe broghte.