On Being A Woman

Dorothy Parker

Why is it, when I am in Rome,
I’d give an eye to be at home,
But when on native earth I be,
My soul is sick for Italy?

And why with you, my love, my lord,
Am I spectacularly bored,
Yet do you up and leave me—then
I scream to have you back again?

Next 10 Poems

• Dorothy Parker : On Cheating The Fiddler
• Dorothy Parker : One Perfect Rose
• Dorothy Parker : Ornithology For Beginners
• Dorothy Parker : Oscar Wilde
• Dorothy Parker : Parable For A Certain Virgin
• Dorothy Parker : Partial Comfort
• Dorothy Parker : Paths
• Dorothy Parker : Pattern
• Dorothy Parker : Penelope
• Dorothy Parker : Philosophy

Previous 10 Poems

• Dorothy Parker : Of A Woman, Dead Young
• Dorothy Parker : Observation
• Dorothy Parker : Now At Liberty
• Dorothy Parker : Nocturne
• Dorothy Parker : Ninon De Lenclos, On Her Last Birthday
• Dorothy Parker : News Item
• Dorothy Parker : Neither Bloody Nor Bowed
• Dorothy Parker : My Own
• Dorothy Parker : Mortal Enemy
• Dorothy Parker : Midnight