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Temps Perdu

Dorothy Parker 1893 (Long Branch) – 1967 (New York City)



I never may turn the loop of a road
  Where sudden, ahead, the sea is Iying,
But my heart drags down with an ancient load-
  My heart, that a second before was flying.

I never behold the quivering rain-
  And sweeter the rain than a lover to me-
But my heart is wild in my breast with pain;
  My heart, that was tapping contentedly.

There's never a rose spreads new at my door
  Nor a strange bird crosses the moon at night
But I know I have known its beauty before,
  And a terrible sorrow along with the sight.

The look of a laurel tree birthed for May
  Or a sycamore bared for a new November
Is as old and as sad as my furtherest day-
  What is it, what is it, I almost remember?

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

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Dorothy Parker

Dorothy Parker was an American poet, short story writer, critic and satirist, best known for her wit, wisecracks, and eye for 20th-century urban foibles. more…

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