I’ve been deeply melancholy today, feeling aware of those who have suffered and died tragically, represented on this sad cold day by my neighbors. Wanting to honor but not tire the memory of those who have passed, I have decided, I hope without sanctimony, to limit comments to Auden’s memorial of Yeats, his dear friend and mentor.
he disappeared in the dead of winter:
The brooks were frozen, the airports almost deserted,
And snow disfigured the public statues;
The mercury sank in the mouth of the dying day.
O all the instruments agree
The day of his death was a dark cold day