Come, seeling night,
Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day,
And with thy bloody and invisible hand
Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond
Which keeps me pale. Light thickens, and the crow
Makes wing to th' rooky wood.
Good things of day begin to droop and drowse,
While night's black agents to their prey do rouse.
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Even the blackest of them all, the crow,
Renders good service as your man-at-arms,
Crushing the beetle read more
Even the blackest of them all, the crow,
Renders good service as your man-at-arms,
Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail,
And crying havoc on the slug and snail.
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,
The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark
When neither is attended; and I think
The read more
The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark
When neither is attended; and I think
The nightingale, if she should sing by day
When every goose is cackling, would be thought
No better a musician than the wren.
How many thing by season seasoned are
To their right praise and true perfection!
Only last night he felt deadly sick, and, after a great deal of
pain, two black crows flew out read more
Only last night he felt deadly sick, and, after a great deal of
pain, two black crows flew out of his mouth and took wing from
the room.
As the many-winter'd crow that leads the clanging rookery home.
As the many-winter'd crow that leads the clanging rookery home.
To shoot at crows is powder flung away.
To shoot at crows is powder flung away.
