Funeral Blues

Random Literature or Lyrics Quiz

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

Updated Jul 26, 2013

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Score 0/30 Timer 07:00
Stop all the clocks, cut     the           
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
        the        and      muffled drum
          the coffin, let the               
Let airplanes        moaning overhead
Scribbling on the     the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe            the white necks of the        doves,
    the traffic           wear       cotton gloves.
He was my North, my        my East and      
My working week and my        rest,
My noon, my           my talk, my song;
I         that love would      for       I was wrong.
The stars are     wanted      put out every one;
     up the moon and           the sun;
     away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can      come to any good.

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