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, my 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 wood3;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
WHAuden
These four plates were engraved by David Schorr with typographic elements by Ken Botnick.
Conceived & printed at Penland in the summer Er fall of 1994, there are ten suites of prints & fifteen broadsides.
For Michael Glass.
