Ina Donna Coolbrith (Ина Донна Кулбрит)

To San Francisco

Fair on your hills, my City,
Fair as the Queen of old,
Supreme in her seven-hilled splendor-
You, from your Gate of Gold,
Facing the orient sunburst,
Swathed in the sunset gleams,
Throned in an ultimate glory,
City of mists and of dreams!

1. Memorial Poem
2. Unbound
3. Bret Harte (A stir of pines in the forest)
4. Meadowlarks
5. Helen Hunt Jackson

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1132

Последние стихотворения

To English version