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 woods: For nothing now can ever come to any good. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LAMENT OF THE FRONTIER GUARD by LI PO THE FIRE OF DRIFTWOOD; DEVEREUX FARM, NEAR MARBLEHEAD by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW HUGH SELWYN MAUBERLEY: 13. ENVOI, 1919 by EZRA POUND LESBIA'S COMPLAINT AGAINST THYRISIS HIS INCONSTANCY; A SONNET by PHILIP AYRES THE WOLD WALL by WILLIAM BARNES AN OLD SAW NEWLY RENDERED by LEVI BISHOP |