Funeral Blues

I watched Four Weddings and a Funeral yesterday. I have always thought Funeral Blues by WH Auden is a beautiful poem, although horribly sad. I especially like the last two verses.

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 last forever: 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.

Is that morbid of me?