W. H. Auden(1907–1973)
XII [Tell Me the Truth About Love]
Some say that love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world go round,
And some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.
Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel 1
Does its odour remind one of llamas,2
Or has it a comforting smell
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff3
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges
O tell me the truth about love.
Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject m e n t i o n e d in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway-guides.
D o e s it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or b o o m like a military band
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand4
Is its singing at parties a riot
D o e s it only like Classical stuff
Will it stop w h e n o n e wants to be quiet
O tell me the truth about love.
I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn't ever there:
I tried the T h a m e s at Maidenhead,
And Brighton's5 bracing air.
I don't know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn't in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.
Can it pull extraordinary faces
Is it usually sick on a swing
D o e s it spend all its time at the races,
Or fiddling with pieces of string
Has it views of its own about money
D o e s it think Patriotism enough
Are its stories vulgar but funny
O tell me the truth about love.
W h e n it c o m e s , will it c o m e without warning
Just as I'm picking my nose
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes
Will it c o m e like a change in the weather
Will its greeting be courteous or rough
Will it alter my life altogether
O tell me the truth about love.
January 19381940