Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone
Silence the piano, and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin...
Let the mourners come
Let the aeroplanes circling in the morning overhead
Scribble in the sky the message...
He is dead
Put crepe bows around the necks of public doves
Let traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves
He was my north, my south, my east and my 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 wood
For nothing now can ever come to any good...
- W H Auden
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