Funeral Blues
By 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 crêpe 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 oceans and sweep up the wood;
- For nothing now can ever come to any good.
First published in 1936.