poetry texts, poem archive at plagiarist.com

Read more poems by Dorothy Parker: Dorothy Parker Poems at Poetry X.

On sweet young earth where the myrtle presses,
  Long we lay, when the May was new;
The willow was winding the moon in her tresses,
  The bud of the rose was told with dew.

And now on the brittle ground I'm lying,
  Screaming to die with the dead year's dead;
The stem of the rose is black and drying,
  The willow is tossing the wind from her head.

Added: 25 Nov 2001 | Last Read: 25 May 2012 10:58 AM | Viewed: 3510 times

PoetryNotes™ Analysis

A custom PoetryNotes™ eBook may be ordered for this poem. Get help with your homework - delivered in 5-6 days.

For more information...