美好的礼

来源:http://www.smtcxb.com 作者:娱乐影视 人气:115 发布时间:2019-09-24
摘要: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 whit

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 for ever; 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 wood,
  For nothing now can ever come to any good.

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.

       

 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,mu 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 wood;
    For nothing now can ever come to any good.

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.

       Funeral Blues by W. H. Auden
  
  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 for ever; 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 wood,
  For nothing now can ever come to any good.

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