The end may come, but it's never final

I really, truly love this poem, especially the third stanza.

"Funeral Blues" by W.H. Auden

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.

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 woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Leaving for Columbus soon for another interview with the Buckeye Institute with Emilia. Also, I can't believe school is over. For now, at least, if I do end up going to grad school. Still--my undergrad years: done. My undergrad work? Not done. Here's to one more paper (Lib-Con Debate, 15-20 pages, nothing too skimpy) and one more exam (Somerville's 20th Century Southern Lit)! Mecosta this weekend with Delta Pi Nu and Betsy's wedding shower. Oh, the times, they are a-changing...! Good thing I don't actually believe in endings.

"Temptation of Adam" by Josh Ritter. (H/T Vivian)