Under Which Lyre
A Reactionary Tract for the Times
By W. H. Auden (Das Original dieser Variation kann
hier gefunden werden)
Winter, at last, is now receding.
Those whipping winds that keep us needing
Pashmina shawls
To wrap our necks as it gets colder
Sometimes even to cover shoulder
in darkness' s fall,
Are unraveling to springtime breezes.
Small blooms promise springtime sneezes
--They do not hide--
They poke out of the Battery' s soil
Begging interruption of our toil
to lunch outside.
Amidst construction, the sunshine sings.
It smiles down on those fountain things.
But something' s amiss.
Though air outside is warming up
A chill begins that we can't stop;
It's loss's kiss.
Three people whom we've known for years
Who've shared our triumphs, anger, tears,
Are now leaving--
Their presence, woven into the fabric,
Of this Museum, sometimes maverick,
Sometimes dreaming
Up better ways for the place to run,
Sometimes goofing off and having fun,
Or serious and sober.
After all this, it's so hard to believe
That their time with us, the threads they weave,
is almost over.
We must now keep our morale high,
Smiles only now, please do not cry,
And do not hedge,
But commit yourselves to toast our friends.
Then repeat the pledge:-
Thou shalt not suffer from heartache
In the presence of an ice cream cake
or Hershey's syrup.
Thou shalt not make a lengthy speech
Unless ice cream is filling each
and every cup.
Thou shalt, this Friday, 3:30 depart
From MJH and uptown start
Thy subway jaunt
To Astor place*, then thou'll walk East
To Avenue A, then south and cease
At a restaurant
Which is between Seventh and Sixth.
Here thou shalt get thy happy fix,
Of two for one
Drinks at the bar. It's called Sidewalk.
It's here that thou is free to talk
and make some fun
Of those now leaving our from ranks.
Thou shalt toast them and give great thanks
For each memory
And thou shalt continue to make plans
To meet up for lunch, for drinks, to dance
