All Poems

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Surprise

© Dorothy Parker

My heart went fluttering with fear
Lest you should go, and leave me here
To beat my breast and rock my head
And stretch me sleepless on my bed.

Summary

© Dorothy Parker

Every love's the love before
In a duller dress.
That's the measure of my lore-
Here's my bitterness:
Would I knew a little more,
Or very much less!

Story

© Dorothy Parker

"And if he's gone away," said she,
"Good riddance, if you're asking me.
I'm not a one to lie awake
And weep for anybody's sake.

Who humbly followed Beauty all her ways,
Begging the brambles that her robe had passed,
Crying her name in corridors of stone,
That day shall know his weariedest of days -
When Beauty, still and suppliant at last,
Does not suffice him, once they are alone.

Song Of One Of The Girls

© 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.

Somebody's Song

© Dorothy Parker

This is what I vow;
He shall have my heart to keep,
Sweetly will we stir and sleep,
All the years, as now.

Social Note

© Dorothy Parker

Lady, lady, should you meet
One whose ways are all discreet,
One who murmurs that his wife
Is the lodestar of his life,

Sight

© Dorothy Parker

Unseemly are the open eyes
That watch the midnight sheep,
That look upon the secret skies
Nor close, abashed, in sleep;

Sanctuary

© Dorothy Parker

My land is bare of chattering folk;
The clouds are low along the ridges,
And sweet's the air with curly smoke
From all my burning bridges.

Salome's Dancing-Lesson

© Dorothy Parker

She that begs a little boon
(Heel and toe! Heel and toe!)
Little gets- and nothing, soon.
(No, no, no! No, no, no!)

Roundel

© Dorothy Parker

She's passing fair; but so demure is she,
So quiet is her gown, so smooth her hair,
That few there are who note her and agree
She's passing fair.

Requiescat

© Dorothy Parker

Tonight my love is sleeping cold
Where none may see and none shall pass.
The daisies quicken in the mold,
And richer fares the meadow grass.

Renunciation

© Dorothy Parker

Chloe's hair, no doubt, was brighter;
Lydia's mouth more sweetly sad;
Hebe's arms were rather whiter;
Languorous-lidded Helen had

Recurrence

© Dorothy Parker

We shall have our little day.
Take my hand and travel still
Round and round the little way,
Up and down the little hill.

Purposely Ungrammatical Love Song

There's many and many, and not so far,
Is willing to dry my tears away;
There's many to tell me what you are,
And never a lie to all they say.

Prophetic Soul

Because your eyes are slant and slow,
Because your hair is sweet to touch,
My heart is high again; but oh,
I doubt if this will get me much.

Prologue to a Saga

Maidens, gather not the yew,
Leave the glossy myrtle sleeping;
Any lad was born untrue,
Never a one is fit your weeping.

Prayer For a New Mother

The things she knew, let her forget again-
The voices in the sky, the fear, the cold,
The gaping shepherds, and the queer old men
Piling their clumsy gifts of foreign gold.

Pour Prendre Conge

I'm sick of embarking in dories
Upon an emotional sea.
I'm wearied of playing Dolores
(A role never written for me).

Portrait of the Artist

Oh, lead me to a quiet cell
Where never footfall rankles,
And bar the window passing well,
And gyve my wrists and ankles.