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Dorothy Parker

A Poem by Dorothy Parker: Convalescent

Convalescent How shall I wail, that wasn’t meant for weeping? Love has run and left me, oh, what then? Dream, then, I must, who never can be sleeping; What if I should meet Love, once again? What if I met …

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A Poem by Dorothy Parker: Condolence

  Condolence They hurried here, as soon as you had died, Their faces damp with haste and sympathy, And pressed my hand in theirs, and smoothed my knee, And clicked their tongues, and watched me, mournful-eyed. Gently they told me …

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A Poem by Dorothy Parker: Comment

  Comment Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song, A medley of extemporanea; And love is a thing that can never go wrong; And I am Marie of Roumania.   Dorothy Parker  

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A Poem by Dorothy Parker: Coda

  Coda There’s little in taking or giving, There’s little in water or wine; This living, this living, this living Was never a project of mine. Oh, hard is the struggle, and sparse is The gain of the one at …

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A Poem by Dorothy Parker: Cherry White

  Cherry White I never see that prettiest thing- A cherry bough gone white with Spring- But what I think, “How gay ‘twould be To hang me from a flowering tree.”   Dorothy Parker  

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A Poem by Dorothy Parker: Bric-a-Brac

  Bric-a-Brac Little things that no one needs — Little things to joke about — Little landscapes, done in beads. Little morals, woven out, Little wreaths of gilded grass, Little brigs of whittled oak Bottled painfully in glass; These are …

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A Poem by Dorothy Parker: Braggart

  Braggart 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 …

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A Poem by Dorothy Parker: Bohemia

  Bohemia Authors and actors and artists and such Never know nothing, and never know much. Sculptors and singers and those of their kidney Tell their affairs from Seattle to Sydney. Playwrights and poets and such horses’ necks Start off …

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A Poem by Dorothy Parker: Autumn Valentine

  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, …

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A Poem by Dorothy Parker: August

  August When my eyes are weeds, And my lips are petals, spinning Down the wind that has beginning Where the crumpled beeches start In a fringe of salty reeds; When my arms are elder-bushes, And the rangy lilac pushes …

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