From Byron - "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage" "But in man's dwelling he became a thing Restless and worn, and stern and wearisome Drooped as the wild-born falcon with clipped wing To whom the boundless air alone were home Then came his fit again, which to o'ercome As eagerly the barred up bird will beat His breast and beak against his wiry dome Till the blood tinge his plumage, so the Heat Of his impeded soul would through his Bosom eat"
Being that I have no beak, nor much bosom to speak of, I make these paintings, instead. Hope you enjoy 'em. JCM
Jennifer McCarthy dogdays6708@msn.com Santa Fe NM 87508