Cotton Funeral Home Thoughts Or Comments On W.H. Auden's Funeral Blues?

Thoughts or comments on W.H. Auden's Funeral Blues? - cotton funeral home

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
The silence of the piano with drums muffled
Bring the coffin, the mourners come.

The planes circle moaning General
Written in the sky the message He Is Dead
Put crepe bow around his neck white 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 clock, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now to take any
Pack the moon and dismantle the sun,
Dispose of the sea and bring the wood;
For nothing now can ever be anything good.


April 1936