Landscape

Dorothy Parker

 Next Poem          

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.

Next Poem 

 Back to Dorothy Parker
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓

Receive the ebook in seconds 50 poems from 50 different authors


To be able to leave a comment here you must be registered. Log in or Sign up.