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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

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by Catallus

I will fuck you in the ass and in the mouth,
Aurelius you sodomised ass pony
And Furius, cock-sucking little pervert,
Who think me, from my little verses
Which are sensual, to be far too wanton.
For it is proper for a poet to be
Pure, pious and unsullied by naughtiness
Himself. The same need not be true of his verse.
My verses, in short,

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Demon by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin

In bygone days when life's array -
The sweet song of the nightingale
And maidens' eyes, the rustling woods -
Still left a fresh impression on me,
When loftiness of feeling,
And freedom, glory, love
Artistic inspiration
So deeply stirred my blood,
My times of hope were cast in

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Demon by [url=http://www.en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexander_Pushkin]Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin

In bygone days when life's array -
The sweet song of the nightingale
And maidens' eyes, the rustling woods -
Still left a fresh impression on me,
When loftiness of feeling,
And freedom, glory, love
Artistic inspiration
So deeply

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