Уістен Х'ю Оден

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,
Для того , щоб дізнатися, як будь -де.