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.