Recently I taught a number of Auden’s poems to my poetry class. I was very pleased by how his work was so admired by them. One student admitted that he was looking forward to tweeting several lines. Others repeated lines and phrases with clear passion. I wish I had taught the following poem, but I re-discovered it the night after I taught the class. It has now joined the growing list of favorite poems that I am attempting to memorize.

Their Lonely Betters

As I listened from a beach-chair in the shade
To all the noises that my garden made,
It seemed to me only proper that words
Should be withheld from vegetables and birds.

A robin with no Christian name ran through
The Robin-Anthem which was all it knew,
And rustling flowers for some third party waited
To say which pairs, if any, should get mated.

Not one of them was capable of lying,
There was not one which knew that it was dying
Or could have with a rhythm or a rhyme
Assumed responsibility for time.

Let them leave language to their lonely betters
Who count some days and long for certain letters;
We, too, make noises when we laugh or weep:
Words are for those with promises to keep.

W.H. Auden