Oh, I can smile for you, and tilt my head, <br />And drink your rushing words with eager lips, <br />And paint my mouth for you a fragrant red, <br />And trace your brows with tutored finger-tips. <br />When you rehearse your list of loves to me, <br />Oh, I can laugh and marvel, rapturous-eyed. <br />And you laugh back, nor can you ever see <br />The thousand little deaths my heart has died. <br />And you believe, so well I know my part, <br />That I am gay as morning, light as snow, <br />And all the straining things within my heart <br />You'll never know. <br /> <br />Oh, I can laugh and listen, when we meet, <br />And you bring tales of fresh adventurings, -- <br />Of ladies delicately indiscreet, <br />Of lingering hands, and gently whispered things. <br />And you are pleased with me, and strive anew <br />To sing me sagas of your late delights. <br />Thus do you want me -- marveling, gay, and true, <br />Nor do you see my staring eyes of nights. <br />And when, in search of novelty, you stray, <br />Oh, I can kiss you blithely as you go .... <br />And what goes on, my love, while you're away, <br />You'll never know.<br /><br />Dorothy Parker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-certain-lady/
