Ballade at Thirty-five

This, no song of an ingenue,
This, no ballad of innocence;
This, the rhyme of a lady who
Followed ever her natural bents.
This, a solo of sapience,
This, a chantey of sophistry,
This, the sum of experiments, --
I loved them until they loved me.

Decked in garments of sable hue,
Daubed with ashes of myriad Lents,
Wearing shower bouquets of rue,
Walk I ever in penitence.
Oft I roam, as my heart repents,
Through God's acre of memory,
Marking stones, in my reverence,
"I loved them until they loved me."

Pictures pass me in long review,--
Marching columns of dead events.
I was tender, and, often, true;
Ever a prey to coincidence.
Always knew I the consequence;
Always saw what the end would be.
We're as Nature has made us --
hence I loved them until they loved me.

from Enough Rope (1926)

Dorothy Parker (1893-1967)

Υ.Γ. Σήμερα γίνομαι 35.
Κι εύχομαι ο Θεός να με προστατεύει από τους φίλους μου, τους συγγενείς μου και όσους συναναστρέφομαι από ανάγκη.
Θ. σ'ευχαριστώ γιά τα καλύτερα χρόνια της ζωής μου που συνεχίζω να τα ζω μαζί σου. Γι'αυτά που μας ενώνουν, που κανείς ποτέ δεν θα μάθει και κανείς δεν μπορεί να καταλάβει.