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|Open-mouthed sign of boredom or sleepiness||YAWN||95.1%|
|Maya Angelou knows|
why this caged creature sings.
|Nickname for Shakespeare||BARD||89.9%|
|A worker's regular pay||WAGE||87.8%|
|Rosy-fingered morning phenomenon|
frequently invoked by Homer
|Omar Khayyám wants thou|
with a loaf of bread and a jug of this.
|Decrease, like William Cullen Bryant's pallid moon||WANE||85.8%|
|Title for Byron or Tennyson||LORD||84.7%|
|A mild adjectival expletive||DARN||84.3%|
|Chimney residue that Eliot's yellow smoke|
lets fall upon its back
|Blest be the ties that do this,|
so saith John Fawcett's hymn
|It's worth one thousandth of a picture,|
|An iamb, trochee, dactyl, or anapest|
(or where you might wear a shoe)
|What one eats (eg, antelope for a Tyger)||FOOD||82%|
|North, South, East and West,|
Each is the one Amy Lowell likes best.
|A place to buy things|
like coffee or old curiosities
|Emerson told of one heard round the world.||SHOT||81.2%|
|Robert Frost encountered two roads|
diverging in a yellow one.
|Before he was interrupted by a raven,|
Poe was pondering over volumes of forgotten this.
|Assign a value, possibly on a scale of 1 to 10||RATE||78%|
|Dylan Thomas suggests you this, this|
against the dying of the light.
|Whittier's tan-cheeked boy has this kind of feet.||BARE||77.2%|
|A challenge . . . like peach eating for Prufrock||DARE||76.9%|
|Rent asunder, ripped||TORE||76.7%|
|Gertrude Stein repeatedly asserts|
the reflexive property of this flower.
|In the spring a young man's fancy|
lightly turns to thoughts of this.
|Though we trod her, still Maya Angelou does this.||RISE||67.5%|
|Into the valley of Death, the six hundred did this.||RODE||67%|
|A slithy creature that Lewis Carroll says|
you might find gimbling in a wabe
|A rich mineral deposit,|
like you might find in the land of Eldorado
|What Death kindly did for Emily Dickinson||STOP||63.9%|
|William Ernest Henley is captain of his soul|
and master of his this.
|Coleridge's ancient Mariner tells a long one.|
(Or maybe it's just frost in his beard.)
|Great renown: Lord Byron's Childe Harold|
says it is the thirst of youth.
|Robert Herrick advises rosebud gathering,|
since this Old One is still a-flying.
|If you can't do this to your Wild Strawberry,|
don't blame Shel Silverstein.
|Over the roofs of the world,|
Walt Whitman sounds his barbaric one.
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