for W. H. Auden, melbourne mar 05
stop all the winds, hush up the rustling rivers, forbid the birds from chirping, let their loveliest feathers be sad, silence all television boxes and with muffled sorrow bring her out in her last beauty, let the mourners wonder and lament. let the ants crawl moaning unheard delving the soil, weaving a black carpet for the final journey, bind grey ribbons round the jaws of the stray dogs, let all the traffic lights wear their dimmed red color, ever. she always there in my left, stood in my right, crouched below me, giggled above me. my days, my hours, every ticking sound of my now-muted clock my years, my months, my weeks, unfortunately, not the rest of the lines in my diaries; I thought that love would never last forever; and I am dead right. the sky is not wanted: pull the curtain down; pack up the clouds, blacken the blue air; pour away every sea and lake, let the tears fill-in, for nothing now can ever come to any joy.
Funeral Blues
W. H. Auden
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 crepe bows round 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.
last modified on Mon 20 Jun 2005