Enough Rope: Poems
1926
''Enough Rope: Poems'' is a collection of poetry by Dorothy Parker, first published in 1926. Known for her sharp wit and keen observations, Parker explores themes of love, loss, and the complexities of human emotion. The poems reflect her unique voice, blending irony with candid examinations of relationships and societal norms, often contrasting idealized notions of love with harsh realities. This collection showcases Parker's ability to intertwine humor and melancholy, making her work a notable reflection of early 20th-century life and the female experience of the time.
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“In youth, it was a way I had,To do my best to please.And change, with every passing ladTo suit his theories.But now I know the things I knowAnd do the things I do,And if you do not like me so,To hell, my love, with you.””
— Dorothy Parker
“Four be the things I am wiser to know:Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe.Four be the things I'd been better without:Love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt.Three be the things I shall never attain:Envy, content, and sufficient champagne.Three be the things I shall have till I die:Laughter and hope and a sock in the eye.””
— Dorothy Parker
“If wild my breast and sore my pride,I bask in dreams of suicide,If cool my heart and high my headI think 'How lucky are the dead.””
— Dorothy Parker
“A Very Short Song Once, when I was young and true, Someone left me sad- Broke my brittle heart in two; And that is very bad. Love is for unlucky folk, Love is but a curse. Once there was a heart I broke; And that, I think, is worse.””
— Dorothy Parker
“Because your eyes are slant and slow,Because your hair is sweet to touch,My heart is high again; but oh,I doubt if this will get me much.””
— Dorothy Parker
“I know I have been happiest at your side;But what is done, is done, and all’s to be.And small the good, to linger dolefully-Gayly it lived, and gallantly it died.I will not make you songs of hearts denied,And you, being man, would have no tears of me,And should I offer you fidelity,You’d be, I think, a little terrified.Yet this the need of woman, this her curse:To range her little gifts, and give, and give,Because the throb of giving’s sweet to bear.To you, who never begged me vows or verse,My gift shall be my absence, while I live;But after that, my dear, I cannot swear.””
— Dorothy Parker
“MIDNIGHTThe stars are soft as flowers, and as near;The hills are webs of shadow, slowly spun;No separate leaf or single blade is here-All blend to one.No moonbeam cuts the air; a sapphire lightRolls lazily, and slips again to rest.There is no edgèd thing in all this night,Save in my breast.””
— Dorothy Parker
“INTERIORHer mind lives in a quiet room, A narrow room, and tall,With pretty lamps to quench the gloom And mottoes on the wall.There all the things are waxen neat And set in decorous lines;And there are posies, round and sweet, And little, straightened vines.Her mind lives tidily, apart From cold and noise and pain,And bolts the door against her heart, Out wailing in the rain.””
— Dorothy Parker
“Oh, let it be a night of lyric rainAnd singing breezes, when my bell is tolled.I have so loved the rain that I would holdLast in my ears its friendly, dim refrain.I shall lie cool and quiet, who have lainFevered, and watched the book of day unfold.Death will not see me flinch; the heart is boldThat pain has made incapable of pain.””
— Dorothy Parker
