2 min read
Слушать(AI)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
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.
Dorothy Parker
Dorothy Parker (née Rothschild; August 22, 1893 – June 7, 1967) was an American poet, writer, critic, and satirist based in New York; she was be
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
Sonnet On An Alpine Night
My hand, a little raised, might press a star-Where I may look, the frosted peaks are spun, So shaped before Olympus was begun, Spanned each to each, now, by a silver bar Thus to face Beauty have I traveled far,
A Fairly Sad Tale
I think that I shall never Why I am thus, and I am so Around me, other girls In men the rush and roar of fire,
The Red Dress
I always saw, I always said If I were grown and free, I'd have a gown of reddest red As fine as you could see, To wear out walking, sleek and slow, Upon a Summer day,
The Ladys Reward
Lady, lady, never Conversation toward your heart; Keep your pretty words serene; Never murmur what you mean
