January 10, 2007

Funeral Blues

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.

— W.H. Auden

Posted by Karen at January 10, 2007 03:05 PM in poetry

I remember this from 4 weddings and a funeral…Love this poem!

Posted by: Kisane at January 18, 2007 05:19 PM

Hi Kisane, I didn’t even know it was in that movie. I found it on a friend’s blog.

Posted by: Karen at January 18, 2007 09:45 PM
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