Dorothy’s reputation as a wit sabotages her poetry, which is largely unfunny. The world is not vast enough to include Dorothy’s one-liners about Calvin Coolidge and poems like:
The friends I made have slipped and strayed,
And who’s the one that cares?
A trifling lot and best forgot —
And that’s my tale, and theirs.
Then if my friendships break and bend,
There’s little need to cry
The while I know that every foe
Is faithful till I die.
("Leal" means "loyal and true.") Actually, this poem is funny, but in a mournful way. As a poet, Dorothy is like a tormented Edna Saint Vincent Millay. Not as powerful a composer, but similarly out-of-date, a beggar in the marketplace of poesy. Here is a great poem:
In the pathway of the sun,
In the footsteps of the breeze,
Where the world and sky are one,
He shall ride the silver seas,
He shall cut the glittering way.
I shall sit at home, and rock;
Rise, to heed a neighbor’s knock;
Brew my tea, and snip my thread;
Bleach the linen for my bed.
They will call him brave.