Here you will find the Poem Of a Woman, Dead Young of poet Dorothy Parker
If she had been beautiful, even, Or wiser than women about her, Or had moved with a certain defiance; If she had had sons at her sides, And she with her hands on their shoulders, Sons, to make troubled the Gods- But where was there wonder in her? What had she, better or eviler, Whose days were a pattering of peas From the pod to the bowl in her lap? That the pine tree is blasted by lightning, And the bowlder split raw from the mountain, And the river dried short in its rushing- That I can know, and be humble. But that They who have trodden the stars Should turn from Their echoing highway To trample a daisy, unnoticed In a meadow of small, open flowers- Where is Their triumph in that? Where is Their pride, and Their vengeance?