from "The Ascent of F6"

from "The Ascent of F6"


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


Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message, He Is Dead,
Put the crepe bows on the white necks
of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear
black cotton gloves.


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 for ever:
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.


W.H. Auden

Posted over on Friko's Musings