Sunday Poetry: W. H. Auden
Epitaph On A Tyrant
Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.
W.H. Auden
Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.
W.H. Auden
posted by Diane at 3:35 PM
2 Comments:
You always post such great poems. They should carve that on W's gravestone.
I was thinking that they should carve it on his forehead. But that would be mean.
It is a great poem. The tone of it is so right.
Thank you.
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