Funeral Blues
coded by ctellier | tags: poesia | Posted On quinta-feira, 8 de abril de 2010 at 23:45
meteorologia: e a chuva não pára
pecado da gula: torradas com brie
teor alcoolico: 3 doses de black label, alguns chopps
audio: aimée mann
A melhor declaração de amor "ever". Sou grata a Mike Newell (Four weddings and a funeral) por ter incluído este poema no filme. Sensacional.
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.
pecado da gula: torradas com brie
teor alcoolico: 3 doses de black label, alguns chopps
audio: aimée mann
A melhor declaração de amor "ever". Sou grata a Mike Newell (Four weddings and a funeral) por ter incluído este poema no filme. Sensacional.
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
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