Dorothy Parker Poems
A collection of select Dorothy Parker famous poems that were written by Dorothy Parker or written about the poet by other famous poets. PoetrySoup is a comprehensive educational resource of the greatest poems and poets on history.
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by
Dorothy Parker
If I were mild, and I were sweet,
And laid my heart before your feet,
And took my dearest thoughts to you,
And hailed your easy lies as true;
Were I to murmur "Yes," and then
"How true, my dear," and "Yes," again,
And wear my eyes discreetly down,
And tremble whitely at your frown,
And keep my words unquestioning
My love, you'd run like anything!
Should I be...Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
In April, in April,
My one love came along,
And I ran the slope of my high hill
To follow a thread of song.
His eyes were hard as porphyry
With looking on cruel lands;
His voice went slipping over me
Like terrible silver hands.
Together we trod the secret lane
And walked the muttering town.
I wore my heart like a wet, red stain
On the breast of a...Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
Hope it was that tutored me,
And Love that taught me more;
And now I learn at Sorrow's knee
The self-same lore....Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
Love has gone a-rocketing.
That is not the worst;
I could do without the thing,
And not be the first.
Joy has gone the way it came.
That is nothing new;
I could get along the same, --
Many people do.
Dig for me the narrow bed,
Now I am bereft.
All my pretty hates are dead,
And what...Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
If I should labor through daylight and dark,
Consecrate, valorous, serious, true,
Then on the world I may blazon my mark;
And what if I don't, and what if I do?...Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
Oh, I'd been better dying,
Oh, I was slow and sad;
A fool I was, a-crying
About a cruel lad!
But there was one that found me,
That wept to see me weep,
And had his arm around me,
And gave me words to keep.
And I'd be better dying,
And I am slow and sad;
A fool I am, a-crying
About a tender lad!...Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
I shall tread, another year,
Ways I walked with Grief,
Past the dry, ungarnered ear
And the brittle leaf.
I shall stand, a year apart,
Wondering, and shy,
Thinking, "Here she broke her heart;
Here she pled to die."
I shall hear the pheasants call,
And the raucous geese;
Down these ways, another Fall,
I shall walk with Peace.
But the pretty path I trod
Hand-in-hand with Love-
Underfoot, the nascent sod,
Brave young...Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
If it shine or if it rain,
Little will I care or know.
Days, like drops upon a pane,
Slip, and join, and go.
At my door's another lad;
Here's his flower in my hair.
If he see me pale and sad,
Will he see me fair?
I sit looking at the floor.
Little will I think or say
If he seek another door;
Even if he stay....Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
If she had been beautiful, even,
Or wiser than women about her,
Or had moved with a certain defiance;
If she had had sons at her sides,
And she with her hands on their shoulders,
Sons, to make troubled the Gods-
But where was there wonder in her?
What had she, better or eviler,
Whose days were a pattering of peas
From the pod to the bowl in...Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
A dream lies dead here. May you softly go
Before this place, and turn away your eyes,
Nor seek to know the look of that which dies
Importuning Life for life. Walk not in woe,
But, for a little, let your step be slow.
And, of your mercy, be not sweetly wise
With words of hope and Spring and...Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
When first we saw the apple tree
The boughs were dark and straight,
But never grief to give had we,
Though Spring delayed so late.
When last I came away from there
The boughs were heavy hung,
But little grief had I to spare
For Summer, perished young....Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
Back of my back, they talk of me,
Gabble and honk and hiss;
Let them batten, and let them be-
Me, I can sing them this:
"Better to shiver beneath the stars,
Head on a faithless breast,
Than peer at the night through rusted bars,
And share an irksome rest.
"Better to see the dawn come up,
Along of a trifling one,
Than set a steady man's cloth and...Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
If you should sail for Trebizond, or die,
Or cry another name in your first sleep,
Or see me board a train, and fail to sigh,
Appropriately, I'd clutch my breast and weep.
And you, if I should wander through the door,
Or sin, or seek a nunnery, or save
My lips and give my cheek, would tread the floor
And aptly mention poison and the...Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
Were you to cross the world, my dear,
To work or love or fight,
I could be calm and wistful here,
And close my eyes at night.
It were a sweet and gallant pain
To be a sea apart;
But, oh, to have you down the lane
Is bitter to my heart....Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
Then let them point my every tear,
And let them mock and moan;
Another week, another year,
And I'll be with my own
Who slumber now by night and day
In fields of level brown;
Whose hearts within their breasts were clay
Before they laid them down....Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
They laid their hands upon my head,
They stroked my cheek and brow;
And time could heal a hurt, they said,
And time could dim a vow.
And they were pitiful and mild
Who whispered to me then,
"The heart that breaks in April, child,
Will mend in May again."
Oh, many a mended heart they knew.
So old they were, and wise.
And little did they have to...Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
The sun's gone dim, and
The moon's turned black;
For I loved him, and
He didn't love back....Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
Here in my heart I am Helen;
I'm Aspasia and Hero, at least.
I'm Judith, and Jael, and Madame de Stael;
I'm Salome, moon of the East.
Here in my soul I am Sappho;
Lady Hamilton am I, as well.
In me Recamier vies with Kitty O'Shea,
With Dido, and Eve, and poor Nell.
I'm of the glamorous ladies
At whose beckoning history shook.
But you are a man,...Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
The Lives and Times of John Keats,
Percy Bysshe Shelley, and
George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron
Byron and Shelley and Keats
Were a trio of Lyrical treats.
The forehead of Shelley was cluttered with curls,
And Keats never was a descendant of earls,
And Byron walked out with a number of girls,
But it didn't impair the poetical feats
Of Byron and Shelley,
Of Byron and Shelley,
Of Byron and...Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
Death's the lover that I'd be taking;
Wild and fickle and fierce is he.
Small's his care if my heart be breaking-
Gay young Death would have none of me.
Hear them clack of my haste to greet him!
No one other my mouth had kissed.
I had dressed me in silk to meet him-
False young Death would not hold the tryst.
Slow's the blood that...Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
Oh, ponder, friend, the porcupine;
Refresh your recollection,
And sit a moment, to define
His means of self-protection.
How truly fortified is he!
Where is the beast his double
In forethought of emergency
And readiness for trouble?
Recall his figure, and his shade-
How deftly planned and clearly
For slithering through the dappled glade
Unseen, or pretty nearly.
Yet should an alien eye discern
His presence in the woodland,
How little has he...Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
When I am old, and comforted,
And done with this desire,
With Memory to share my bed
And Peace to share my fire,
I'll comb my hair in scalloped bands
Beneath my laundered cap,
And watch my cool and fragile hands
Lie light upon my lap.
And I will have a sprigged gown
With lace to kiss my throat;
I'll draw my curtain to the town,
And hum a purring...Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
The days will rally, wreathing
Their crazy tarantelle;
And you must go on breathing,
But I'll be safe in hell.
Like January weather,
The years will bite and smart,
And pull your bones together
To wrap your chattering heart.
The pretty stuff you're made of
Will crack and crease and dry.
The thing you are afraid of
Will look from every eye.
You will go faltering after
The bright, imperious line,
And split...Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
Should Heaven send me any son,
I hope he's not like Tennyson.
I'd rather have him play a fiddle
Than rise and bow and speak an idyll....Read more of this...
by
Dorothy Parker
Oh, is it, then, Utopian
To hope that I may meet a man
Who'll not relate, in accents suave,
The tales of girls he used to have?...Read more of this...