Additional Poems By Dorothy Parker Essay Research

Additional Poems By Dorothy Parker Essay, Research Paper Threnody Lilacs blossom just as sweet Now my heart is shattered. If I bowled it down the street,

Additional Poems By Dorothy Parker Essay, Research Paper


Lilacs blossom just as sweet

Now my heart is shattered.

If I bowled it down the street,

Who’s to say it mattered?

If there’s one that rode away

What would I be missing?

Lips that taste of tears, they say,

Are the best for kissing.

Eyes that watch the morning star

Seem a little brighter;

Arms held out to darkness are

Usually whiter.

Shall I bar the strolling guest,

Bind my brow with willow,

When, they say, the empty breast

Is the softer pillow?

That a heart falls tinkling down,

Never think it ceases.

Every likely lad in town

Gathers up the pieces.

If there’s one gone whistling by

Would I let it grieve me?

Let him wonder if I lie;

Let him half believe me.

from Enough Rope (1926)

The False Friends

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 do

To come to me with lies!

Who flings me silly talk of May

Shall meet a bitter soul;

For June was nearly spent away

Before my heart was whole.

from Enough Rope (1926)

The Trifler

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 was quick and stormy,

Smooth and cold is the bridal bed;

I must wait till he whistles for me-

Proud young Death would not turn his head.

I must wait till my breast is wilted.

I must wait till my back is bowed,

I must rock in the corner, jilted-

Death went galloping down the road.

Gone’s my heart with a trifling rover.

Fine he was in the game he played-

Kissed, and promised, and threw me over,

And rode away with a prettier maid.

from Enough Rope (1926)


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 have I left?

from Enough Rope (1926)


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 boughs above,

And the stripes of ribbon grass

By the curling way-

I shall never dare to pass

To my dying day.

from Enough Rope (1926)


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.

from Enough Rope (1926)


Four be the things I am wiser to know:

Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe.

Four be the things I’d been better without:

Love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt.

Three be the things I shall never attain:

Envy, content, and sufficient champagne.

Three be the things I shall have till I die:

Laughter and hope and a sock in the eye.

from Enough Rope (1926)

De Profundis

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?

from Enough Rope (1926)


Chloe’s hair, no doubt, was brighter;

Lydia’s mouth more sweetly sad;

Hebe’s arms were rather whiter;

Languorous-lidded Helen had

Eyes more blue than e’er the sky was;

Lalage’s was subtler stuff;

Still, you used to think that I was

Fair enough.

Now you’re casting yearning glances

At the pale Penelope;

Cutting in on Claudia’s dances;

Taking Iris out to tea.

Iole you find warm-hearted;

Zoe’s cheek is far from rough-

Don’t you think it’s time we parted? . . .

Fair enough!

from Enough Rope (1926)

Song of Perfect Propriety

Oh, I should like to ride the seas,

A roaring buccaneer;

A cutlass banging at my knees,

A dirk behind my ear.

And when my captives’ chains would clank

I’d howl with glee and drink,

And then fling out the quivering plank

And watch the beggars sink.

I’d like to straddle gory decks,

And dig in laden sands,

And know the feel of throbbing necks

Between my knotted hands.

Oh, I should like to strut and curse

Among my blackguard crew….

But I am writing little verse,

As little ladies do.

Oh, I should like to dance and laugh

And pose and preen and sway,

And rip the hearts of men in half,

And toss the bits away.

I’d like to view the reeling years

Through unastonished eyes,

And dip my finger-tips in tears,

And give my smiles for sighs.

I’d stroll beyond the ancient bounds,

And tap at fastened gates,

And hear the prettiest of sound-

The clink of shattered fates.

My slaves I’d like to bind with thongs

That cut and burn and chill….

But I am writing little songs,

As little ladies will.

from Enough Rope (1926)

Social Note

Lady, lady, should you meet

One whose ways are all discreet,

One who murmurs that his wife

Is the lodestar of his life,

One who keeps assuring you

That he never was untrue,

Never loved another one . . .

Lady, lady, better run!

from Enough Rope (1926)

News Item

Men seldom make passes

At girls who wear glasses.

from Enough Rope (1926)


If I don’t drive around the park,

I’m pretty sure to make my mark.

If I’m in bed each night by ten.

I may get back my looks again.

If I abstain from fun and such.

I’ll probably amount to much;

But I shall stay the way I am.

Because I do not give a damn.

from Enough Rope (1926)

Symptom Recital

I do not like my state of mind;

I’m bitter, querulous, unkind.

I hate my legs, I hate my hands,

I do not yearn for lovelier lands.

I dread the dawn’s recurrent light;

I hate to go to bed at night.

I snoot at simple, earnest folk.

I cannot take the gentlest joke.

I find no peace in paint or type.

My world is but a lot of tripe.

I’m disillusioned, empty-breasted.

For what I think, I’d be arrested.

I am not sick, I am not well.

My quondam dreams are shot to hell.

My soul is crushed, my spirit sore;

I do not like me any more.

I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse.

I ponder on the narrow house.

I shudder at the thought of men….

I’m due to fall in love again.

from Enough Rope (1926)

Pictures in the Smoke

Oh, gallant was the first love, and glittering and fine;

The second love was water, in a clear white cup;

The third love was his, and the fourth was mine;

And after that, I always get them all mixed up.

from Enough Rope (1926)


Some men break your heart in two,

Some men fawn and flatter,

Some men never look at you;

And that cleans up the matter.

from Enough Rope (1926)

Ballade at Thirty-five

This, no song of an ing?nue,

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.


Princes, never I’d give offense,

Won’t you think of me tenderly?

Here’s my strength and my weakness, gents, —

I loved them until they loved me.

from Enough Rope (1926)

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.

from Enough Rope (1926)

Epitaph for a Darling Lady

All her hours were yellow sands,

Blown in foolish whorls and tassels;

Slipping warmly through her hands;

Patted into little castles.

Shiny day on shiny day

Tumble in a rainbow clutter,

As she flipped them all away,

Sent them spinning down the gutter.

Leave for her a red young rose,

Go your way, and save your pity;

She is happy, for she knows

That her dust is very pretty.

from Enough Rope (1926)


Now it’s over, and now it’s done;

Why does everything look the same?

Just as bright, the unheeding sun, —

Can’t it see that the parting came?

People hurry and work and swear,

Laugh and grumble and die and wed,

Ponder what they will eat and wear, —

Don’t they know that our love is dead?

Just as busy, the crowded street;

Cars and wagons go rolling on,

Children chuckle, and lovers meet, —

Don’t they know that our love is gone?

No one pauses to pay a tear;

None walks slow, for the love that’s through, —

I might mention, my recent dear,

I’ve reverted to normal, too.

from Enough Rope (1926)


The ladies men admire, I’ve heard,

Would shudder at a wicked word.

Their candle gives a single light;

They’d rather stay at home at night.

They do not keep awake till three,

Nor read erotic poetry.

They never sanction the impure,

Nor recognize an overture.

They shrink from powders and from paints …

So far, I’ve had no complaints.

from Enough Rope (1926)

Love Song

My own dear love, he is strong and bold

And he cares not what comes after.

His words ring sweet as a chime of gold,

And his eyes are lit with laughter.

He is jubilant as a flag unfurled —

Oh, a girl, she’d not forget him.

My own dear love, he is all my world, —

And I wish I’d never met him.

My love, he’s mad, and my love, he’s fleet,

And a wild young wood-thing bore him!

The ways are fair to his roaming feet,

And the skies are sunlit for him.

As sharply sweet to my heart he seems

As the fragrance of acacia.

My own dear love, he is all my dreams, —

And I wish he were in Asia.

My love runs by like a day in June,

And he makes no friends of sorrows.

He’ll tread his galloping rigadoon

In the pathway of the morrows.

He’ll live his days where the sunbeams start,

Nor could storm or wind uproot him.

My own dear love, he is all my heart, —

And I wish somebody’d shoot him.

from Enough Rope (1926)

Rondeau Redoubl?

The same to me are sombre days and gay.

Though joyous dawns the rosy morn, and bright,

Because my dearest love is gone away

Within my heart is melancholy night.

My heart beats low in loneliness, despite

That riotous Summer holds the earth in sway.

In cerements my spirit is bedight;

The same to me are sombre days and gay.

Though breezes in the rippling grasses play,

And waves dash high and far in glorious might,

I thrill no longer to the sparkling day,

Though joyous dawns the rosy morn, and bright.

Ungraceful seems to me the swallow’s flight;

As well might Heaven’s blue be sullen gray;

My soul discerns no beauty in their sight

Because my dearest love is gone away.

Let roses fling afar their crimson spray,

And virgin daisies splash the fields with white,

Let bloom the poppy hotly as it may,

Within my heart is melancholy night.

And this, oh love, my pitiable plight

Whenever from my circling arms you stray;

This little world of mine has lost its light …

I hope to God, my dear, that you can say


same to me.

from Enough Rope (1926)