funeral blues

'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 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 now can ever come to any good.'

(w.h. auden)

do filme 'quatro casamentos e um funeral'