The Second Oldest Story

by Dorothy Parker

Go I must along my ways

Though my heart be ragged,

Dripping bitter through the days,

Festering, and jagged.

Smile I must at every twinge,

Kiss, to time its throbbing;

He that tears a heart to fringe

Hates the noise of sobbing.

Weep, my love, till Heaven hears;

Curse and moan and languish.

While I wash your wound with tears,

Ease aloud your anguish.

Bellow of the pit in Hell

Where you're made to linger.

There and there and well and well-

Did he prick his finger!