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| Paul Caponigro Scotch Thistle and Heather, Rochester N.Y. 1958 gelatin silver print Princeton University Art Museum |
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| Paul Caponigro Fishbone (Maine) 1962 gelatin silver print Princeton University Art Museum |
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| Paul Caponigro Dutch Pipe Leaves 1963 gelatin silver print Art Institute of Chicago |
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| Paul Caponigro Cabbage Leaf, Winthrop, Massachusetts 1964 gelatin silver print Art Institute of Chicago |
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| Paul Caponigro Running White Deer, County Wicklow, Ireland 1967 gelatin silver print Minneapolis Institute of Art |
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| Paul Caponigro Donegal 1967 gelatin silver print Cincinnati Art Museum, Ohio |
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| Paul Caponigro Stonehenge 1967 gelatin silver print Art Institute of Chicago |
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| Paul Caponigro Stonehenge 1967 gelatin silver print Art Institute of Chicago |
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| Paul Caponigro Stonehenge 1967 gelatin silver print Art Institute of Chicago |
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| Paul Caponigro Stonehenge 1967 gelatin silver print Art Institute of Chicago |
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| Paul Caponigro Stonehenge 1967 gelatin silver print Art Institute of Chicago |
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| Paul Caponigro Stonehenge 1967 gelatin silver print Art Institute of Chicago |
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| Paul Caponigro Redding Woods, Connecticut 1968 gelatin silver print Art Institute of Chicago |
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| Paul Caponigro Redding Woods, Connecticut 1969 gelatin silver print Art Institute of Chicago |
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| Paul Caponigro Callanish Stone Circle, Hebrides 1972 gelatin silver print Minneapolis Institute of Art |
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| Paul Caponigro Bridal Veil Falls, Yosemite 1974 gelatin silver print Minneapolis Institute of Art |
from Metamorphoses
Narcissus on the grassy Verdure lies:
But whilst within the Crystal Fount he tries
To quench his Heat, he feels new Heat arise.
For as his own bright Image he survey'd,
He fell in love with the fantastick Shade;
And o'er the fair Resemblance hung unmov'd,
Nor knew, fond Youth! it was himself he lov'd.
The well turn'd Neck and Shoulders he descries,
The spacious Forehead, and the sparkling Eyes;
The hands that Bacchus might not scorn to show,
And hair that round Apollo's Head might flow;
With all the Purple Youthfulness of Face,
That gently blushes in the wat'ry Glass.
By his own Flames consum'd the Lover lies,
And gives himself the Wound by which he dies.
To the cold Water oft he joins his Lips,
Oft catching at the beauteous Shade he dips
His Arms, as often from himself he slips.
Nor knows he who it is his Arms pursue
With eager Clasps, but loves he knows not who.
– Ovid (43 BC-AD 17), translated by Joseph Addison (1794)
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