Funeral Blues

Random Literature or Lyrics Quiz

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

Featured Apr 3, 2009

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     all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the     from barking with a juicy      
        the        and      muffled     
      out the         let the          come.
    airplanes        moaning         
Scribbling on the sky the         He Is      
Put       bows       the white necks of the              
Let the         policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working      and my Sunday rest,
My       my midnight, my       my      
I thought that      would last for       I was wrong.
The stars are not        now: put out       one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the      
For nothing now can ever      to any good.

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