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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Poems are below...


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Written by Dorothy Parker | Create an image from this poem

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 | Create an image from this poem

Transition

 Too long and quickly have I lived to vow
The woe that stretches me shall never wane,
Too often seen the end of endless pain
To swear that peace no more shall cool my brow.
I know, I know- again the shriveled bough Will burgeon sweetly in the gentle rain, And these hard lands be quivering with grain- I tell you only: it is Winter now.
What if I know, before the Summer goes Where dwelt this bitter frenzy shall be rest? What is it now, that June shall surely bring New promise, with the swallow and the rose? My heart is water, that I first must breast The terrible, slow loveliness of Spring.
Written by Dorothy Parker | Create an image from this poem

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 | Create an image from this poem

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 | Create an image from this poem

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!
Written by Dorothy Parker | Create an image from this poem

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 | Create an image from this poem

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 | Create an image from this poem

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 | Create an image from this poem

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 | Create an image from this poem

Frustration

 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.
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