The lines are the fourth stanza below--the poem is by Robert Francis.
From where I stand the sheep stand still
As stones against the stony hill.
The stones are gray
And so are they.
And both are weatherworn and round,
Leading the eye back to the ground.
Two mingled flocks—
The sheep, the rocks.
And still no sheep stirs from its place
Or lifts its Babylonian face.
That was almost the epigraph for my third novel, which is about sheep. But I decided to go with no epigraph at all. Francis also wrote a charming, understated memoir called The Trouble With Francis--a great title.
The other poet is Henri Coulette. Here's a lovely little poem about a cat.
Lord of the Tenth Life,
Welcome my Jerome,
A fierce, gold tabby.
Make him feel at home.
He loves bird and mouse.
He loves a man's lap,
And in winter light,
Paws tucked in, a nap.
I should have posted that when our cat died, but I didn't think of it... Happy Saturday.