Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Dorothy Parker

Should Heaven send me any son,
I hope he’s not like Tennyson.
I’d rather have him play a fiddle
Than rise and bow and speak an idyll.

Next 10 Poems

• Dorothy Parker : Anecdote
• Dorothy Parker : August
• Dorothy Parker : Autobiography
• Dorothy Parker : Autumn Valentine
• Dorothy Parker : Ballade At Thirty-five
• Dorothy Parker : Ballade Of A Great Weariness
• Dorothy Parker : Ballade Of A Talked-off Ear
• Dorothy Parker : Ballade Of Unfortunate Mammals
• Dorothy Parker : Bohemia
• Dorothy Parker : Braggart

Previous 10 Poems

• Dorothy Parker : Alexandre Dumas And His Son
• Dorothy Parker : Afternoon
• Dorothy Parker : After Spanish Proverb
• Dorothy Parker : A Well-worn Story
• Dorothy Parker : A Very Short Song
• Dorothy Parker : A Portrait
• Dorothy Parker : A Pig's-eye View Of Literature
• Dorothy Parker : A Fairly Sad Tale
• Dorothy Parker : A Dream Lies Dead
• Dorothy Parker : A Certain Lady