Funeral Blues

Random Literature or song Quiz

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

Updated Jul 26, 2013

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Stop all the         cut     the telephone,
Prevent the     from barking      a juicy      
Silence the        and with muffled     
Bring out the             the mourners come.
Let           circle         overhead
Scribbling on the     the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the         policemen wear                     
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 ever: I was wrong.
The stars     not wanted      put           one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
     away the       and sweep up the wood.
For nothing         ever come to any      

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