Funeral blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent he 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 crêpe 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.

La luna e l’onda

Mentre la prima luna s’alza in trono
occhi sui vivi, col pallore e lo scherno
d’una vecchia pastiglia consumata,
il passeraccio solo e imbalonato
dall’egra tamerice guarda al mare
– azul y azul, immenso azul redondo –
guarda al di là di dune e di barene
con un occhio soltanto l’altro in sonno,
trepidante per prendere la mira,
dell’onda definita e trionfante
che nessun colpo potrà mai fermare
sul confine del sogno che viviamo.
Quell’onda che avanzando ci costringe
e senza requie ci fa domandare
perché io, io chi, io quando
ed io per quanto ancora?
Ma la luna procede verso il cielo
che livido s’imbruna
testimone impassibile e solenne
sull’affanno del nulla.

Alla luna

Oh essere anche noi la luna di qualcuno!
Noi che guardiamo
essere guardati, luccicare
sembrare da lontano
la candida luna
che non siamo.

Sonetto n. 15

I consider everything that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheerèd and checked even by the selfsame sky,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory:
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay
To change your day of youth to sullied night;
And, all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I ingraft you new.