Chanson: Ballade At Thirty Five
Written by dear Dorothy Parker, and mellifluously sung by dear Carla Bruni.
This, no song of ingénue,
This, no ballad of innocence;
This, the rhyme of a lady who
Followed ever the 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.
L'envoi
Princes, never I'd give offense,
Won't you think of me tenderly?
Here's my strength and my weakness, gents --
I loved them until they loved me.
Showing posts with label Everything is connected. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Everything is connected. Show all posts
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
