Crossword-Solution: DIRGE
Dictionary
| Word | Word Type | Definition |
|---|---|---|
| Dirge | a. | A piece of music of a mournful character, to accompany funeral rites; a funeral hymn. |
Anagrams
| Word | Anagrams | |
|---|---|---|
| DIRGE | anagram | EGRID, GRIDE, REDIG, RIDGE |
We have 103 clues for the answer “DIRGE”
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Hint 1 meaning
The superficial contents of any figure; the surface included
within any given lines; superficial extent; as, the area of a square or
a triangle.
Hint 2 anagram
RAEA
Hint 3 another clue
CERTAIN BRAIN SIZE
23 +3
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Sentences with DIRGE (5)
For the long years heap up a grievous load, Scant pleasures, heavier pains, Till not one joy remains For him who lingers on life’s weary road And come it slow or fast, One doom of fate Doth all await, For dance and marriage bell, The dirge and funeral knell.
The spectre, after listening for a moment, joined in the mournful dirge; and floated out upon the bleak, dark night.
While this dirge was sung, in a low and melancholy tone, by the female choristers, the others were divided into two bands, of which one was engaged in bedecking, with such embroidery as their skill and taste could compass, a large silken pall, destined to cover the bier of Athelstane, while the others busied themselves in selecting, from baskets of flowers placed before them, garlands, which they intended for the same mournful purpose.
The song became a dirge, a lamentable, prolonged wail of distress: “Nee-rah, my Gahd, to Thee, Nee-rah to Thee-ah.” At the end of the song, Uncle Oelbermann put on his hat without a word of warning.
Sing another dirge in wailing, For another vessel sailing With the shadow-ships at sea; Shadow-ships for ever sinking -- Shadow-ships whose pumps are clinking, And whose thirsty holds are drinking Pledges to Eternity.
Quotes with DIRGE (3)
Mortality Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud? Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud, A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, He passes from life to his rest in the grave. The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, Be scattered around, and together be laid; And the young and the old, the low and the high, Shall molder to dust, and together shall lie. Yea, hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, Are mingled together in sunshine and rain; And …
Ah! listen the song of storm from my disturbed soul; and it scatters flower buds into its lonely halls; like every pain needs a dirge, with wreaths that awful the world framed one for me, and gives the time it calls.
Music is not a fucking soda. It is not a fucking insurance rate. It is not a fucking T-shirt. It is the only real religion that is worth devoting your soul to. It is the last remnant of the primal scream, the funeral dirge, and the wedding march. It is the light that keeps me out of the shadows, and it is the reason my immortal soul is not in dire straits.
Where this answer appears
Appears in: Boston Globe, Chronicle, Crossroads, CrosSynergy, LAT, Newsday, New Yorker, NY Sun, NYT, Slate, Three Across, TIME, Universal, USA TODAY, WSJ.
Used 169 times in crossword archives (1970–2025).