Ohhh, classy!
Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.
perfect choice, Ramon
ReplyDeleteThanks Squib.
ReplyDeleteI do agonise over these things, you know.
I'm digging the angelic background thing going on in the painting. And the horsey statue.
ReplyDeleteOh, and the poem's good* too, of course. Who was it written about?
*No water works from me this week. Promise.
It's a poem by Auden called Epitaph on a Tyrant
ReplyDeleteGiven he was looking back at the 1930s, it's pretty much a Melbourne Cup field of suspects, Alex.
It's a poem by Auden called Epitaph on a Tyrant
ReplyDeleteOK, who are you and what have you done to the real Ramon?
Come again, Squibaline?
ReplyDeleteyou always make us google it
ReplyDeleteI've taken pity on you, my children.
ReplyDeleteI already googled it. It made me regret my attack on Nick Cave (he is a big Auden fan).
ReplyDelete