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
Stop all the         cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog      barking      a juicy bone,
Silence the        and with muffled     
Bring out the coffin,     the mourners come.
Let           circle                 
Scribbling on the sky the         He Is Dead,
Put       bows round the white       of the public       
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton        
He was my North, my South, my East and      
My         week and my             
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I                   would last for ever: I was wrong.
The       are                     out every one;
     up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the       and sweep up the wood.
For nothing     can      come to any good.

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