Wystan Hugh Auden

(1907 - 1973 / York / England)

Wystan Hugh Auden Poems

If you see a poem only with title, it is listed that way because of copyright reasons.
41. Old People's Home 1/1/2004
42. On The Circuit 1/1/2004
43. One Evening 1/1/2004
44. Partition 1/1/2004
45. Petition 1/1/2004
46. Refugee Blues 1/1/2004
47. Roman Wall Blues 1/1/2004
48. Seascape 1/1/2004
49. September 1, 1939 1/1/2004
50. Song Of The Master And Boatswain 1/1/2004
51. Stop All The Clocks, Cut Off The Telephone 9/29/2014
52. The Fall Of Rome 1/1/2004
53. The Geography Of The House 1/1/2004
54. The Hidden Law 1/1/2004
55. The Labyrinth 1/1/2004
56. The More Loving One 1/1/2004
57. The Novelist 1/1/2004
58. The Quest 1/1/2004
59. The Riddle 1/1/2004
60. The Shield Of Achilles 1/1/2004
61. The Two 1/1/2004
62. The Unknown Citizen 1/1/2004
63. They Wondered Why The Fruit Had Been Forbidden 1/1/2004
64. This Lunar Beauty 1/1/2004
65. Three Short Poems 1/1/2004
66. Twelve Songs 1/1/2004
67. Under Which Lyre 1/1/2004
68. Victor 1/1/2004
69. Villanelle 1/1/2004
70. Voltaire At Ferney 1/1/2004
71. We Too Had Known Golden Hours 1/1/2004
72. We'Re Late 1/1/2004
73. Who's Who 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Wystan Hugh Auden

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. ...

Read the full of Funeral Blues

In The Time Of War, Xii

And the age ended, and the last deliverer died.
In bed, grown idle and unhappy; they were safe:
The sudden shadow of the giant's enormous calf
Would fall no more at dusk across the lawn outside.

They slept in peace: in marshes here and there no doubt
A sterile dragon lingered to a natural death,
But in a year the spoor had vanished from the heath;
The kobold's knocking in the mountain petered out.

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