The Choice
He'd have given me rolling lands, / Houses of marble, and billowing farms,
The Small Hours
❦
No more my little song comes back;
And now of nights I lay
My head on down, to watch the black
And wait the unfailing gray.
Oh, sad are winter nights, and slow;
And sad's a song that's dumb;
And sad it is to lie and know
Another dawn will come.
More poems by Dorothy Parker
The Evening Primrose
You know the bloom, unearthly white, / That none has seen by morning light-
Incurable
And if my heart be scarred and burned, / The safer, I, for all I learned;
The Thin Edge
With you, my heart is quiet here, / And all my thoughts are cool as rain.