By W. H. Auden

“I’ll love, dear, I’ll love you,

‘Till China and Africa meet;

And the river jumps over the mountain,

And the salmon sing in the street.

..

‘I’ll love you ‘till the ocean,

Is folded and hung up to dry;

And the seven stars go squawking,

Like geese about the sky.”

12 thoughts on “By W. H. Auden

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