( from twelve songs)
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 mourning
overhead,
Scribbling on the sky
the message HE Is Dead,
Put crepe bows
،round the necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policeman
wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South,
My East and West
My moon, my midnight,
my talk, my song:
I thought that love would last
for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted:
put out every one,
Pack 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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