A cloze game is a reading comprehension activity where certain words are removed from a text and you need to fill in the blanks with the correct words. This helps improve vocabulary, reading comprehension, and understanding of context.
Type In Mode
In this mode, you can:
Type your answers directly into the blank spaces
Get instant feedback as you type - correct answers show green, incorrect show red
Use the keyboard for faster input and navigation
Submit answers to check your overall progress
Drag & Drop Mode
Switch to Drag & Drop mode to:
Drag words from the word bank and drop them into blank spaces
Click on words in the bank to automatically fill blanks
Click on blanks to select or clear them
Game Features
Word Skip Selector: Choose how frequently words are removed (every 4th, 5th, 6th word, etc.)
Progress Bar: Shows your completion percentage
Color Feedback: Green for correct answers, red for incorrect ones
Audio Player: Listen to the musical arrangement while you play
Show Missing Words: View all the correct answers if you need help
Reset Game: Start over with the same poem
New Game: Get a different random poem
Print Poem: Print the poem with blanks for offline practice
Winning
When you fill all the blanks correctly, you'll see a congratulations message and confetti animation! The progress bar will show 100% completion.
Tips
Read the entire poem first to understand the context
Look for grammatical clues (verb tense, articles, etc.)
Use the audio player to hear the rhythm and flow
Start with easier word skip settings (like every 8th word) and work your way up
Don't be afraid to use "Show Missing Words" if you get stuck!
Try both Type In and Drag & Drop modes to see which you prefer
Missing Words
No! those days are gone away, And their are old and gray, And their minutes buried all the down-trodden pall Of the leaves of many years: times have winter's shears, Frozen North, and chilling East, tempests to the feast Of the forest's whispering fleeces, men knew nor rent nor leases.
No, the sounds no more, And the twanging bow no more; is the ivory shrill Past the heath and up hill; There is no mid-forest laugh, Where lone Echo the half To some wight, amaz'd to hear Jesting, in forest drear.
On the fairest time of You may go, with sun or moon, Or the stars to light you, Or the polar ray to you; But you never may behold Little John, or bold; Never one, of all the clan, Thrumming on empty can Some old hunting ditty, while He doth green way beguile To fair hostess Merriment, Down beside pasture Trent; For he left the merry tale Messenger spicy ale.
Gone, the merry morris din; Gone, song of Gamelyn; Gone, the tough-belted outlaw Idling in "grenè shawe;" All are gone away and past! if Robin should be cast Sudden from his turfed grave, And if Marian should have Once again her forest days, She would weep, and he would craze: He would swear, for all his oaks, Fall'n beneath the dockyard strokes, rotted on the briny seas; She would weep that wild bees Sang not to her—strange! that honey Can't got without hard money!
So it is: yet us sing, Honour to the old bow-string! Honour to bugle-horn! Honour to the woods unshorn! Honour to the green! Honour to the archer keen! Honour to tight John, And the horse he rode upon! Honour to Robin Hood, Sleeping in the underwood! Honour to maid Marian, And to all the Sherwood-clan! Though their days have by Let us two a burden try.
Congratulations! You got all the answers correct!
No! those days are gone away, And their hours are old and gray, And their minutes buried all Under the down-trodden pall Of the leaves of many years: Many times have winter's shears, Frozen North, and chilling East, Sounded tempests to the feast Of the forest's whispering fleeces, Since men knew nor rent nor leases.
No, the bugle sounds no more, And the twanging bow no more; Silent is the ivory shrill Past the heath and up the hill; There is no mid-forest laugh, Where lone Echo gives the half To some wight, amaz'd to hear Jesting, deep in forest drear.
On the fairest time of June You may go, with sun or moon, Or the seven stars to light you, Or the polar ray to right you; But you never may behold Little John, or Robin bold; Never one, of all the clan, Thrumming on an empty can Some old hunting ditty, while He doth his green way beguile To fair hostess Merriment, Down beside the pasture Trent; For he left the merry tale Messenger for spicy ale.
Gone, the merry morris din; Gone, the song of Gamelyn; Gone, the tough-belted outlaw Idling in the "grenè shawe;" All are gone away and past! And if Robin should be cast Sudden from his turfed grave, And if Marian should have Once again her forest days, She would weep, and he would craze: He would swear, for all his oaks, Fall'n beneath the dockyard strokes, Have rotted on the briny seas; She would weep that her wild bees Sang not to her—strange! that honey Can't be got without hard money!
So it is: yet let us sing, Honour to the old bow-string! Honour to the bugle-horn! Honour to the woods unshorn! Honour to the Lincoln green! Honour to the archer keen! Honour to tight little John, And the horse he rode upon! Honour to bold Robin Hood, Sleeping in the underwood! Honour to maid Marian, And to all the Sherwood-clan! Though their days have hurried by Let us two a burden try.