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- Saschaporsche (talk) 09:11, 23 April 2010 (UTC)
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 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 woods;
- For nothing now can ever come to any good.