Funeral Blues

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

Updated Jul 26, 2013

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Stop     the clocks,     off the telephone,
Prevent the dog      barking      a juicy bone,
Silence the        and with         drum
Bring out the coffin,     the mourners come.
Let airplanes circle moaning         
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
          bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear              gloves.
He was my North, my        my      and      
My working week and my Sunday      
My       my midnight, my       my song;
I         that love            for ever: I was       
The stars are not        now: put out       one;
     up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the      
For nothing now          come to          

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