Thomas Neunhöffer

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dogs 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 öf 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 can ever come to any good.

(W.H.Auden)