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
They tell me new methods now govern the Muses, modes of expression have changed with the times; That is the rank of the poet who uses The old-fashioned verse with intentional rhymes. And quite out of date, too, is rhythmical metre; The critics declare it an insult art. But oh! the sweet swing of it, oh! clear ring of it, Oh the great pulse of it, right from the heart, Art or no art.
I by the side of that old poet, Ocean, And the billows that broke on the rocks; The tide in with a rhythmical motion; The sea-gulls dipped downward time-keeping flocks. I watched while a giant wave gathered forces, And then on the gray granite precipice burst; I knew as I counted, while other waves mounted, knew the tenth billow would rhyme with the first.
in the village a church bell was chiming, And in the woodland a little bird sang; And, doubt who will, yet those two sounds were rhyming, As o'er the hill-tops they echoed and rang.
The Wind the Trees fell to talking together; And nothing they was didactic or terse; But everything spoken was told unbroken And beautiful rhyming and rhythmical verse.
So rhythm hail it, though critics assail it, And hold melting as an insult to art, For oh! the sweet of it, oh! the dear ring of it, Oh! strong pulse of it, right from the heart, Art no art.
Congratulations! You got all the answers correct!
They tell me new methods now govern the Muses, The modes of expression have changed with the times; That low is the rank of the poet who uses The old-fashioned verse with intentional rhymes. And quite out of date, too, is rhythmical metre; The critics declare it an insult to art. But oh! the sweet swing of it, oh! the clear ring of it, Oh the great pulse of it, right from the heart, Art or no art.
I sat by the side of that old poet, Ocean, And counted the billows that broke on the rocks; The tide lilted in with a rhythmical motion; The sea-gulls dipped downward in time-keeping flocks. I watched while a giant wave gathered its forces, And then on the gray granite precipice burst; And I knew as I counted, while other waves mounted, I knew the tenth billow would rhyme with the first.
Below in the village a church bell was chiming, And back in the woodland a little bird sang; And, doubt it who will, yet those two sounds were rhyming, As out o'er the hill-tops they echoed and rang.
The Wind and the Trees fell to talking together; And nothing they said was didactic or terse; But everything spoken was told in unbroken And beautiful rhyming and rhythmical verse.
So rhythm I hail it, though critics assail it, And hold melting rhymes as an insult to art, For oh! the sweet swing of it, oh! the dear ring of it, Oh! the strong pulse of it, right from the heart, Art or no art.