Ballade At Thirty-Five Poem by Dorothy Parker

Ballade At Thirty-Five

Rating: 3.0


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.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Ratnakar Mandlik 08 February 2019

Marvelous poem rich in rhyme, rhythm and maturity as also human traits of doing the things knowingly without caring for the consequences.

0 0 Reply
Bia Sohma 21 March 2008

this is such an amazing poem!

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Dorothy Parker

Dorothy Parker

Long Branch / New Jersey
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