Dorothy Parker

(22 August 1893 - 7 June 1967 / Long Branch / New Jersey)

Ballade At Thirty-Five - Poem by Dorothy Parker

This, no song of an ingénue,
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.

Form: Ballad


Comments about Ballade At Thirty-Five by Dorothy Parker

  • Rookie Bia Sohma (3/21/2008 10:18:00 PM)

    this is such an amazing poem! (Report) Reply

    6 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
Read all 1 comments »



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Read poems about / on: ballad, innocence, memory, nature, song, god, heart



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



[Hata Bildir]