Time will say nothing but I told you so,
Time only knows the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.

If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
If we should stumble when musicians play,
Time will say nothing but I told you so.

There are no fortunes to be told, although,
Because I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you I would let you know.

The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,
There must be reasons why the leaves decay;
Time will say nothing but I told you so.

Perhaps the roses really want to grow,
The vision seriously intends to stay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.

Suppose all the lions get up and go,
And all the brooks and soldiers run away;
Will Time say nothing but I told you so?
If I could tell you I would let you know.¹

    — W. H. Auden

I came across this poem a few days ago, and it reminded me of an incident in my life from decades ago. Since that time, the scene had lain dormant in my memory, never having made sense. The line in the poem that evoked the memory was “If we should weep when clowns put on their show.” This exact situation came about when I was in my early 30s and was assisting at my daughter’s kindergarten on the day a clown performed for the class. It was a special event for the kids, and once my tears began, I felt dread at the thought that the children might notice, and so kept to the back of the room. In front of the performing clown, the five- and six-year-olds sat on the floor, engrossed and completely silent. As I recall, neither did the clown make any sound throughout his performance.

I think it was the silence of both performer and audience that largely affected me. Perhaps the silence signaled to me the children’s keen drive to learn; to take in this and all new information; instinctively, to prepare themselves for life to come. Perhaps it was the performing man’s utter humility in presenting himself as a clown, and his generosity in giving the children some new experience that he was able to offer. Whatever it was, the situation overwhelmed me, and though I tried, I could not hold back my tears.

I checked the Internet just now to see if there was any information on why people weep when seeing a clown perform, and could find nothing. Neither had I seen anything written on this topic in the more than four decades since the incident had occurred, nor had I heard mention of it prior to discovering the line in this Auden poem. So I thought that if I analyzed the poem, I might come to understand what had evoked my strange response from long ago.

One of the refrains—“If I could tell you, I would let you know”—suggested to me a word-encased wisdom that the loving speaker knew could not be taken in or absorbed. The other refrain—“Time will say nothing but I told you so”—said to me that in time, we learn that the old, impenetrable words contained wisdom all along.   

Perhaps that was it: the children who were so attentive and so open would come in time to undergo the common, inevitable strain that each must endure, the slow emptying into meaninglessness of all that had been built up within: as Auden called it, “the price we have to pay.” Only then could they come to the humble generosity of the clown before them that day. Then might they find the worthy words, and perhaps, like Auden, give forth the old understanding in yet a new form.

That year, 1982, was the final, intense stage of a depression that had plagued me for nearly two decades. The difficult time would finally end one year later in what our tradition calls “the second birth,” also known as being “born of the Spirit.” In late January in the middle of the night—a cold, dark time—came great peace and astonishment: I was given the answer to the question for which I had had no words.

If I could make it known to the children who are innocent, silent, and eager to learn, if I could tell them, I would let them know. Still, I think there is better wisdom in the difficult way it has been arranged . . . that after the weeping at the tomb, true peace and understanding ascends.

1. W. H. Auden, “If I Could Tell You,” All Poetry, accessed December 27, 2023, https://allpoetry.com/If-I-Could-Tell-You.