Poem by Ina Donna Coolbrith

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. Copa De Oro
2. Fruitionless
3. Siesta
4. Love-Song
5. The Day of Our Lord

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