St. Agnes' Eve Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold.
Do you think I was born in a wood to be afraid of an owl?jonathan swift
Lovelyare the curves of the white owl sweeping Wavy in the dusk lit by one large star. Lone on the fir-branch, his rattle-note unvaried, Brooding o'er the gloom, spins the brown eve-jar.George Meredith
He is a rarity which I cannot but be fond of, as one would be of a hog that could fiddle, or a singing owl.Rochester, John Wilmot, 2nd Earl of
I will be deafer than the blue-eyed cat, And thrice as blind as any noonday owl, To holy virgins in their ecstasies.Tennyson
As when on some secluded branch in forest far and wide sits perched an owl, who, full of self-conceit and self-created wisdom, explains, comments, condemns, ordains and order things not understood, yet full of importance still holds forth to stocks and stones around — so sits and scribbles Mike.michael faraday
He was in LOGIC a great critic, Profoundly skill'd in analytic; He could distinguish, and divide A hair 'twixt south, and south-west side: On either which he would dispute, Confute, change hands, and still confute, He'd undertake to prove, by force Of argument, a man's no horse; He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl, And that a lord may be an owl, A calf an alderman, a goose a justice, And rooks Committee-men and Trustees.
Drink, my jolly lads, drink with discerning, Wedlock's a lane where there is no turning; Never was owl more blind than a lover, Drink and be merry, lads, half seas over.dinah maria mulock
In the life of the academic mind, the owl of Minerva seldom flies as early as the dusk.john n. gray
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r The moping owl does to the moon complain.thomas gray
Ophelia is a little walking owl, bewitched by her unconscious feminine, her father, and what "they say." She never finds her own voice. She never finds her own body or her own feelings and therefore misses life and love in the here and now. Gradually the waters of the unconscious to which she is "native and indued" swallow her.Marion Woodman
A serious writer is not to be confused with a solemn writer. A serious writer may be a hawk or a buzzard or even a popinjay , but a solemn writer is always a bloody owl.
A falcon, tow'ring in her pride of place, Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd.william shakespeare
The large white owl that with eye is blind, That hath sate for years in the old tree hollow, Is carried away in a gust of wind.
The Roman senate, when within The city walls an owl was seen, Did cause their clergy, with lustrations * * * * The round-fac'd prodigy t' avert, From doing town or country hurt.
It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, Which gives the stern'st good night.william shakespeare
The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders At our quaint spirits.william shakespeare
He'd undertake to prove, by force Of argument, a man's no horse. He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl, And that a Lord may be an owl, A calf an Alderman, a goose a Justice, And rooks, Committee-men or Trustees.
The owl does not praise the light, nor the wolf the dog.
It is daffodil time, so the robins all cry, For the sun's a big daffodil up in the sky, And when down the midnight the owl calls "to-whoo"! Why, then the round moon is a daffodil too; Now sheer to the bough-tops the sap starts to climb, So, merry my masters, it's daffodil time.
And they brought an owl, and a useful Cart, And a pound of Rice, and a Cranberry Tart, And a hive of silvery Bees. And they brought a Pig, and some green Jack-daws, And a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws, and forty Bottles of Ring-Bo-Ree, And no end of Stilton Cheese.Edward Lear
These notices had been written by Christopher Robin, who was the only one in the forest who could spell; for owl, wise though he was in many ways, able to read and write and spell his own name WOL, yet somehow went all to pieces over delicate words like MEASLES and BUTTERED TOAST.a. a. milne
owl was telling Kanga an Interesting Anecdote full of long words like Encyclopædia and Rhododendron to which Kanga wasn't listening.a. a. milne
The owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat.Edward Lear
In the hollow tree, in the old gray tower, The spectral owl doth dwell; Dull, hated, despised, in the sunshine hour, But at dusk he's abroad and well! Not a bird of the forest e'er mates with him All mock him outright, by day: But at night, when the woods grow still and dim, The boldest will shrink away! O, when the night falls, and roosts the fowl, Then, then, is the reign of the Horned owl!
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