Ballade Of A Great Weariness Poem by Dorothy Parker
Ballade Of A Great Weariness
There's little to have but the things I had,
There's little to bear but the things I bore.
There's nothing to carry and naught to add,
And glory to Heaven, I paid the score.
There's little to do but I did before,
There's little to learn but the things I know;
And this is the sum of a lasting lore:
Scratch a lover, and find a foe.
And couldn't it be I was young and mad
If ever my heart on my sleeve I wore?
There's many to claw at a heart unclad,
And little the wonder it ripped and tore.
There's one that'll join in their push and roar,
With stories to jabber, and stones to throw;
He'll fetch you a lesson that costs you sore:
Scratch a lover, and find a foe.
So little I'll offer to you, my lad;
It's little in loving I set my store.
There's many a maid would be flushed and glad,
And better you'll knock at a kindlier door.
I'll dig at my lettuce, and sweep my floor,
Forever, forever I'm done with woe.
And happen I'll whistle about my chore,
"Scratch a lover, and find a foe."
L'ENVOI
Oh, beggar or prince, no more, no more!
Be off and away with your strut and show.
The sweeter the apple, the blacker the core:
Scratch a lover, and find a foe!
This is a type of fervor I don't agree with. Although your past is important, it's not like everything of the present is everything of the past. You'll make discoveries and expand your horizons.
At a heart unclad! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
This is a poem of exquisite beauty interspersed with a philosophy of life. Loved its lyrical flow and its message. Thanks.
this is stuiped! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
This poem is less about weariness than it is about swearing off men! Still, very well written. (I wonder did she write this in jest?) RIP Dorothy. Your work lives on.
There's little to have but the things I had, There's little to bear but the things I bore. There's nothing to carry and naught to add, And glory to Heaven, I paid the score. excellently composed
She need to scratch a little deeper... bury those claws, Dorothy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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6/7/2023 5:35:23 AM # 1.0.0.1113
This poem is full of weariness.