2 min read
Слушать(AI)For A Lady Who Must Write Verse
Unto seventy years and seven, Hide your double birthright well-You, that are the brat of Heaven And the pampered heir to Hell.
Let your rhymes be tinsel treasures, Strung and seen and thrown aside.
Drill your apt and docile measures Sternly as you drill your pride.
Show your quick, alarming skill in Tidy mockeries of art;
Never, never dip your quill in Ink that rushes from your heart.
When your pain must come to paper, See it dust, before the day;
Let your night-light curl and caper, Let it lick the words away.
Never print, poor child, a lay on Love and tears and anguishing,
Lest a cooled, benignant Phaon Murmur, "Silly little thing!"
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
Surprise
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 Ah, clear they see and true they say That one shall weep, and one shall stray For such is Love's un...
Finis
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...
Song In A Minor Key
There's a place I know where the birds swing low, And wayward vines go roaming, Where the lilacs nod, and a marble god Is pale, in scented gloaming And at sunset there comes a lady fair Whose eyes are deep with yearning By an old, old ga...
Of A Woman Dead Young
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,
