Skip to main content
Like
Create new Glog
previous
next
Email share
32 views | 1 likes | 0 reposts
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.
Stop All the Clocks
flamethrower94 added this comment 2009-09-26 22:34:38-05:00
kinda morbid, but touching.
flamethrower94 added this comment 2009-09-26 22:34:38-05:00
kinda morbid, but touching.