| Bēru dzejolis no "The Four Weddings and a Funeral" |
18. Mar 2007|02:16 |
Forgive me if I turn from my own feelings to the words of another splendid bugger, WH Auden.
This is actually what I want to say:
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 the aeroplanes circle
moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message
He ls Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks
of the public doves,
Let 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. |
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