Dorothy Parker

Lines on Reading Too Many Poets

Roses, rooted warm in earth,
  Bud in rhyme, another age;
Lilies know a ghostly birth
  Strewn along a patterned page;
Golden lad and chimbley sweep
  Die; and so their song shall keep.
 
Wind that in Arcadia starts
  In and out a couplet plays;
And the drums of bitter hearts
  Beat the measure of a phrase.
Sweets and woes but come to print
  Quae cum ita sint.
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