Incrocino aeroplani lamentosi lassù
Lui era il mio Nord, il mio Sud, il mio Est ed Ovest,
Non servon più le stelle: spegnetele anche tutte;
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead/ Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,/ Put crêpe 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 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;/ For nothing now can ever come to any good.