Poetry Set in Jazz

So we'll go no more a-roving
  So late into the night,
Though the heart be [still]1 as loving,
  And the moon be still as bright.

For the sword outwears [the]2 sheath,
  And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart [must pause to breathe]3,
  And Love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving,
  And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a-roving
  By the light of the moon.

When we two parted
    In silence and tears, 
Half broken-hearted
    To sever for years, 
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
    Colder thy kiss; 
Truly that hour foretold
    Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
    Sunk chill on my brow -- 
It felt like the warning
    Of what I feel now. 
Thy vows are all broken,
    And light is thy fame; 
I hear thy name spoken,
    And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
    A knell to mine ear; 
A shudder comes o'er me --
    Why wert thou so dear? 
They know not I knew thee,
    Who knew thee too well:-- 
Long, long shall I rue thee,
    Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met --
    In silence I grieve 
That thy heart could forget,
    Thy spirit deceive. 
If I should meet thee
    After long years, 
How should I greet thee? --
    With silence and tears.

My love could come home early
 . . . . . . . . . .

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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 crêpe [bows]1 round the white necks of the public doves, 
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West, 
My working week and my Sunday rest, 
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; 
I thought that love [would]2 last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one, 
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, 
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods; 
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

When I am dead, my dearest,
  Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
  Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
  With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
  And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,
  I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
  Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
  That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
  And haply may forget.

Underneath an abject willow,
Lover, sulk no more:
Act from thought should quickly follow.
What is thinking for?
Your unique and moping station
Proves you cold;
Stand up and fold
Your map of desolation.

Bells that toll across the meadows
From the sombre spire
Toll for these unloving shadows
Love does not require.
All that lives may love; why longer
Bow to loss
With arms across?
Strike and you shall conquer.

Geese in flocks above you flying.
Their direction know,
[Icy brooks beneath you flowing,
To their ocean go.
Dark and dull is your distraction]1:
Walk then, come,
No longer numb
Into your satisfaction.