And still the Raven, never flitting,
Still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of read more

And still the Raven, never flitting,
Still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas
Just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming
Of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming
Throws his shadow on the floor,
And my soul from out that shadow,
That lies floating on the floor,
Shall be lifted--nevermore.

You must not think, sir, to catch old birds with chaff.

You must not think, sir, to catch old birds with chaff.

I was always a lover of soft-winged things.

I was always a lover of soft-winged things.

Thou little bird, thou dweller by the sea,
Why takest thou its melancholy voice,
And with that read more

Thou little bird, thou dweller by the sea,
Why takest thou its melancholy voice,
And with that boding cry
Along the waves dost thou fly?
Oh! rather, bird, with me
Through this fair land rejoice!

Come, the croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.

Come, the croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.

The woosel cock so black of hue,
With orange-tawny bill,
The throstle with his note so true,
read more

The woosel cock so black of hue,
With orange-tawny bill,
The throstle with his note so true,
The wren with little quill--
. . . .
The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,
The plain-song cuckoo grey,
Whose note full many a man doth mark,
And dares not answer nay.

Birds of a feather will gather together.

Birds of a feather will gather together.

Did ever raven sing so like a lark
That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise?

Did ever raven sing so like a lark
That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise?

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.