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Слушать(AI)Lines On Reading Too Many Poets
Roses, rooted warm in earth, Bud in rhyme, another age;
Lilies know a ghostly birth Strewn along a patterned page;
Golden lad and chimbley sweep Die; and so their song shall keep.
Wind that in Arcadia starts In and out a couplet plays;
And the drums of bitter hearts Beat the measure of a phrase.
Sweets and woes but come to print Quae cum ita sint.
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
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Symptom Recital
I do not like my state of mind; I'm bitter, querulous, unkind I hate my legs, I hate my hands,
Lullaby
Sleep, pretty lady, the night is enfolding you; Drift, and so lightly, on crystalline streams Wrapped in its perfumes, the darkness is holding you; Starlight bespangles the way of your dreams
Fulfillment
For this my mother wrapped me warm, And called me home against the storm, And coaxed my infant nights to quiet, And gave me roughage in my diet,
Interior
Her mind lives in a quiet room, A narrow room, and tall, With pretty lamps to quench the gloom And mottoes on the wall There all the things are waxen neat And set in decorous lines;
