Now this must be the sweetest place
From here to heaven's end;
The field is white and flowering lace,
The birches leap and bend,
The hills, beneath the roving sun,
From green to purple pass,
And little, trifling breezes run
Their fingers through the grass.
So good it is, so gay it is,
So calm it is, and pure.
A one whose eyes may look on this
Must be the happier, sure.
But me- I see it flat and gray
And blurred with misery,
Because a lad a mile away
Has little need of me.
Dorothy Parker's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Landscape by Dorothy Parker )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
William Ernest Henley
(1849 - 1902)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
- the poet
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
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