Monday, February 21, 2011

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone

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.

W.H Auden. :)

'He was my North, my South, my East and my West
My working days and my sunday rest'

Aw, cute.


sh. said...

Is it a song?

Interesting. And yeah, cute. :P

aliah said...

Nope, it's a poem. A beautiful one I'd say. It is written to actually convey the message that the 'he' in this poem is dead and yet she came up with a very heart-wrenching lines :)

Actually I just learnt it in my TOK class today. hehee :)


there's always a little truth behind every "JUST KIDDING ", a little knowledge behind every " I DON'T KNOW ", a little emotion behind every " I DON'T CARE ", and a little pain behind every " IT'S OKAY "