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W.H. Auden

WhistleStop
HiddenNickname
offline
17.09.2005 19:47
0
The funeral blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone
Silence the pianos and muffled drum
Bring aut the coffin, let the mourners come

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbing in the sky the message he is dead
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves
Let the traffic policeman wear black coton cloves

He was my north, my south, my east and west
My working week and my sunday rest
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong

The stars are not wanted now, put out every one
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood
For nothing now can ever come to any good