alfred eisenstaedt
A City Winter (excerpt)
Frank O'Hara
The snow drifts low
and yet neglects to cover me, and Idance just ahead to keep my heart in sight.
How like a queen, to seek with jealous eye
the face that flees you, hidden city, white
swan. There's no art to free me, blinded so.
[copyright Frank O'Hara, 1951]
0 comments:
Post a Comment