Bonnie is gone, 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. The aeroplanes circle moaning overhead, scribbling on the sky the message she is dead, put cre`pe bows round the white necks of the public doves, let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. She was my north , my south, my east, my west, my working week and my Sunday rest, my noon, my midnight, my talk, my song, i thought the 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 away the wood, fornothing now can ever come to any good. Wystan Hugh Auden.
Posted on: Sun, 27 Jul 2014 14:25:50 +0000
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