Funeral Blues

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Can you complete W. H. Auden's Funeral Blues?

Featured Apr 3, 2009

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Score 0/30 Timer 07:00
     all the clocks,     off the telephone,
Prevent the     from barking      a            
        the pianos and      muffled drum
Bring out the             the mourners come.
    airplanes circle moaning         
Scribbling on the sky the         He Is Dead,
Put crepe      round the white necks of the public doves,
    the traffic           wear       cotton gloves.
He was my North, my        my East and West,
My working      and my        rest,
My       my           my talk, my song;
I         that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars                now: put out       one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now     ever come to          

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Created Apr 3, 2009Report
Tags:Lyrics, song, auden, blue, funeral, Funeral Blues, H Auden