Poem by Dorothy Parker

Roundel

    She's passing fair; but so demure is she
      So quiet is her gown, so smooth her hair,
    That few there are who note her and agree
      She's passing fair.

    Yet when was ever beauty held more rare
    Than simple heart and maiden modesty?
    What fostered charms with virtue could compare?

    Alas, no lover ever stops to see;
    The best that she is offered is the air.
    Yet--if the passing mark is minus
        D--
      She's passing fair.

1. I Shall Come Back
2. Verse Reporting Late Arrival at a Conclusion
3. The White Lady
4. Testament
5. Social Note

Wilfred Owen Roundel ("In Shrewsbury Town e'en Hercules wox tired")

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