O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fall; Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call; Tomorrow they may form and go. O hushed October morning mild, Begin the hours of this day slow. Make the day seem to us less brief. Hearts not averse to being beguiled, Beguile us in the way you know. Release one leaf at break of day; At noon release another leaf; One from our trees, one far away.
A group of men in evening clothes looks like a flock of crows, and is just about as inspiring.
She died on a windy gray day in March when the sky was full of darting crows and the world lay prostrate and defeated after winter. Peter Lake was at her side and it ruined him forever. It broke him as he had not ever imagined he could have been broken. He would never again be young, or able to remember what it was like to be young. What he had once taken to be pleasures would appear to him in his defeat as hideous and deserved punishments for reckless vanity.
Such bickerings to recount, met often in these our writers, what more worth is it than to chronicle the wars of kites or crows flocking and fighting in the air?
It may be the cock that crows, but it is the hen that lays the eggs.
If men had wings and bore black feathers, Few of them would be clever enough to be crows.
If you wish to upset the law that all crows are black, you mustn't seek to show that no crows are; it is enough if you prove one single crow to be white.
Each man is good in His sight. It is not necessary for eagles to be crows.
To shoot at crows is powder flung away.
We were all gun nuts and they were called varmints, crows were, because they ate grain and so did we.
If you want to fly with the eagles you can't hang out with the crows.
Such as ne'er saw swans May think crows beautiful.
Angels and crows passed each other, one leaving, the other coming.
Crows pick out the eyes of the dead, when the dead have no longer need of them; but flatterers mar the soul of the living, and her eyes they blind.
Rooster, maybe well crows, but the eggs still bears the chicken.
On of the reasons that I wanted to study literature was because it exposed everything. Writers looked for secrets that had never been mined. Every writer has to invent their own magical language, in order to describe the indescribable. They might seem to be writing in French, English, or Spanish, but really they were writing in the language of butterflies, crows, and hanged men.
Geese are white, crows are black. No argument will change this.
Crows are not always available to give warning.
In the poem "C," the crows are associated with cancer, because I had suffered a cancer scare.
Don't seem to he on the lookout for crows, else you'll set other people watching.
