Night covers up the rigid land

cold new england winter

Night covers up the rigid land

And ocean’s quaking moor,

And shadows with a tolerant hand

The ugly and the poor

The wounded pride for which I weep

You cannot staunch, nor I control the moments of your sleep

Nor hear the name you cry,

Whose life is lucky in your eyes,

And precious is the bed

As to his utter fancy lies

The dark caressive head.

For each love to its aim is true,

And all kinds seek their own;

You love your life and I love you, so I must lie alone.

Oh hurry to the fated spot

Of your deliberate fall;

For now my dreams of you cannot

Refer to you at all.

-W.H. Auden, with the most heartbreaking setting by Benjamin Britten. Listen and weep.

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