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Best Famous Dorothy Parker Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Dorothy Parker poems. This is a select list of the best famous Dorothy Parker poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Dorothy Parker poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Dorothy Parker poems.

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Written by Dorothy Parker |

Autumn Valentine

 In May my heart was breaking-
Oh, wide the wound, and deep!
And bitter it beat at waking,
And sore it split in sleep.
And when it came November, I sought my heart, and sighed, "Poor thing, do you remember?" "What heart was that?" it cried.

Written by Dorothy Parker |

The Gentlest Lady

 They say He was a serious child,
And quiet in His ways;
They say the gentlest lady smiled
To hear the neighbors' praise.
The coffers of her heart would close Upon their smaliest word.
Yet did they say, "How tall He grows!" They thought she had not heard.
They say upon His birthday eve She'd rock Him to His rest As if she could not have Him leave The shelter of her breast.
The poor must go in bitter thrift, The poor must give in pain, But ever did she get a gift To greet His day again.
They say she'd kiss the Boy awake, And hail Him gay and clear, But oh, her heart was like to break To count another year.

Written by Dorothy Parker |

For A Favorite Granddaughter

 Never love a simple lad,
Guard against a wise,
Shun a timid youth and sad,
Hide from haunted eyes.
Never hold your heart in pain For an evil-doer; Never flip it down the lane To a gifted wooer.
Never love a loving son, Nor a sheep astray; Gather up your skirts and run From a tender way.
Never give away a tear, Never toss a pine; Should you heed my words, my dear, You're no blood of mine!

More great poems below...

Written by Dorothy Parker |


 Secrets, you said, would hold us two apart;
You'd have me know of you your least transgression,
And so the intimate places of your heart,
Kneeling, you bared to me, as in confession.
Softly you told of loves that went before- Of clinging arms, of kisses gladly given; Luxuriously clean of heart once more, You rose up, then, and stood before me, shriven.
When this, my day of happiness, is through, And love, that bloomed so fair, turns brown and brittle, There is a thing that I shall ask of you- I, who have given so much, and asked so little.
Some day, when there's another in my stead, Again you'll feel the need of absolution, And you will go to her, and bow your head, And offer her your past, as contribution.
When with your list of loves you overcome her, For Heaven's sake, keep this one secret from her!

Written by Dorothy Parker |

Lines On Reading Too Many Poets

 Roses, rooted warm in earth,
Bud in rhyme, another age;
Lilies know a ghostly birth
Strewn along a patterned page;
Golden lad and chimbley sweep
Die; and so their song shall keep.
Wind that in Arcadia starts In and out a couplet plays; And the drums of bitter hearts Beat the measure of a phrase.
Sweets and woes but come to print Quae cum ita sint.

Written by Dorothy Parker |

Rhyme Against Living

 If wild my breast and sore my pride,
I bask in dreams of suicide;
If cool my heart and high my head,
I think, "How lucky are the dead!"

Written by Dorothy Parker |

Temps Perdu

 I never may turn the loop of a road
Where sudden, ahead, the sea is Iying,
But my heart drags down with an ancient load-
My heart, that a second before was flying.
I never behold the quivering rain- And sweeter the rain than a lover to me- But my heart is wild in my breast with pain; My heart, that was tapping contentedly.
There's never a rose spreads new at my door Nor a strange bird crosses the moon at night But I know I have known its beauty before, And a terrible sorrow along with the sight.
The look of a laurel tree birthed for May Or a sycamore bared for a new November Is as old and as sad as my furtherest day- What is it, what is it, I almost remember?

Written by Dorothy Parker |

Ballade at Thirty-five

 This, no song of an ingénue, 
This, no ballad of innocence; 
This, the rhyme of a lady who 
Followed ever her natural bents.
This, a solo of sapience, This, a chantey of sophistry, This, the sum of experiments, -- I loved them until they loved me.
Decked in garments of sable hue, Daubed with ashes of myriad Lents, Wearing shower bouquets of rue, Walk I ever in penitence.
Oft I roam, as my heart repents, Through God's acre of memory, Marking stones, in my reverence, "I loved them until they loved me.
" Pictures pass me in long review,-- Marching columns of dead events.
I was tender, and, often, true; Ever a prey to coincidence.
Always knew I the consequence; Always saw what the end would be.
We're as Nature has made us -- hence I loved them until they loved me.

Written by Dorothy Parker |

A Certain Lady

 Oh, I can smile for you, and tilt my head, 
And drink your rushing words with eager lips, 
And paint my mouth for you a fragrant red, 
And trace your brows with tutored finger-tips.
When you rehearse your list of loves to me, Oh, I can laugh and marvel, rapturous-eyed.
And you laugh back, nor can you ever see The thousand little deaths my heart has died.
And you believe, so well I know my part, That I am gay as morning, light as snow, And all the straining things within my heart You'll never know.
Oh, I can laugh and listen, when we meet, And you bring tales of fresh adventurings, -- Of ladies delicately indiscreet, Of lingering hands, and gently whispered things.
And you are pleased with me, and strive anew To sing me sagas of your late delights.
Thus do you want me -- marveling, gay, and true, Nor do you see my staring eyes of nights.
And when, in search of novelty, you stray, Oh, I can kiss you blithely as you go .
And what goes on, my love, while you're away, You'll never know.

Written by Dorothy Parker |

General Review Of The Sex Situation

 Woman wants monogamy;
Man delights in novelty.
Love is woman's moon and sun; Man has other forms of fun.
Woman lives but in her lord; Count to ten, and man is bored.
With this the gist and sum of it, What earthly good can come of it?

Written by Dorothy Parker |

Faute De Mieux

 Travel, trouble, music, art,
A kiss, a frock, a rhyme-
I never said they feed my heart,
But still they pass my time.

Written by Dorothy Parker |


 If I had a shiny gun,
I could have a world of fun
Speeding bullets through the brains
Of the folk who give me pains;

Or had I some poison gas,
I could make the moments pass
Bumping off a number of
People whom I do not love.
But I have no lethal weapon- Thus does Fate our pleasure step on! So they still are quick and well Who should be, by rights, in hell.

Written by Dorothy Parker |


 Oh, let it be a night of lyric rain
And singing breezes, when my bell is tolled.
I have so loved the rain that I would hold Last in my ears its friendly, dim refraln.
I shall lie cool and quiet, who have lain Fevered, and watched the book of day unfold.
Death will not see me flinch; the heart is bold That pain has made incapable of pain.
Kinder the busy worms than ever love; It will be peace to lie there, empty-eyed, My bed made secret by the leveling showers, My breast replenishing the weeds above.
And you will say of me, "Then has she died? Perhaps I should have sent a spray of flowers.

Written by Dorothy Parker |

Sonnet For The End Of A Sequence

 So take my vows and scatter them to sea;
Who swears the sweetest is no more than human.
And say no kinder words than these of me: "Ever she longed for peace, but was a woman! And thus they are, whose silly female dust Needs little enough to clutter it and bind it, Who meet a slanted gaze, and ever must Go build themselves a soul to dwell behind it.
" For now I am my own again, my friend! This scar but points the whiteness of my breast; This frenzy, like its betters, spins an end, And now I am my own.
And that is best.
Therefore, I am immeasurably grateful To you, for proving shallow, false, and hateful.

Written by Dorothy Parker |

Fair Weather

 This level reach of blue is not my sea;
Here are sweet waters, pretty in the sun,
Whose quiet ripples meet obediently
A marked and measured line, one after one.
This is no sea of mine.
that humbly laves Untroubled sands, spread glittering and warm.
I have a need of wilder, crueler waves; They sicken of the calm, who knew the storm.
So let a love beat over me again, Loosing its million desperate breakers wide; Sudden and terrible to rise and wane; Roaring the heavens apart; a reckless tide That casts upon the heart, as it recedes, Splinters and spars and dripping, salty weeds.