“
Raven, raven, your eggs are shining bright!Where do people carry off your holy eggs?
— Ravens
Raven, raven, your eggs are shining bright!Where do people carry off your holy eggs?
That Raven on yon left-hand oakBodes me no good.
The Raven's house is built with reeds,— Upon the top I see.
The raven once in snowy plumes was drest,To sooty blackness from the purest white.
Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven, wandering from the Nightly shore,— Quoth the Raven "Nevermore!"
And the Raven, never flitting, Shall be lifted—nevermore.
The croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.
The raven himself is hoarseUnder my battlements.
O, it comes o'er my memory,Boding to all.
Did ever raven sing so like a lark,That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise?
