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Edgar Allan Poe
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.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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.
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John Gay
That Raven on yon left-hand oak (Curse on his ill-betiding croak) Bodes me no good.
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John Gay
That Raven on yon left-hand oak (Curse on his ill-betiding croak) Bodes me no good.
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Ovid (Publius Ovidius Naso)
The raven once in snowy plumes was drest, White as the whitest dove's unsullied breast, Fair as the guardian of the Capitol, Soft as the swan; a large and lovely fowl His tongue, his prating tongue had changed him quite To sooty blackness from the purest white.
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Ovid (Publius Ovidius Naso)
The raven once in snowy plumes was drest, White as the whitest dove's unsullied breast, Fair as the guardian of the Capitol, Soft as the swan; a large and lovely fowl His tongue, his prating tongue had changed him quite To sooty blackness from the purest white.
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Thomas D'Arcy McGee
The Raven's house is built with reeds,-- Sing woe, and alas is me! And the Raven's couch is spread with weeds, High on the hollow tree; And the Raven himself, telling his beads In penance for his past misdeeds, Upon the top I see.
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Thomas D'Arcy McGee
The Raven's house is built with reeds,-- Sing woe, and alas is me! And the Raven's couch is spread with weeds, High on the hollow tree; And the Raven himself, telling his beads In penance for his past misdeeds, Upon the top I see.
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William Shakespeare
Thou said'st--O, it comes o'er my memory As doth the raven o'er the infected house, Boding to all!--He had my handkerchief.
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William Shakespeare
Did ever raven sing so like a lark That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise?
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William Shakespeare
Thou said'st--O, it comes o'er my memory As doth the raven o'er the infected house, Boding to all!--He had my handkerchief.
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William Shakespeare
Did ever raven sing so like a lark That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise?
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