He picked up the acorn and buried it straight
By the side of a river both deep and great
Where then did the Raven go?
He went high and low,
Over hill, over dale, did the black Raven go.
Many Autumns, many Springs
Travelled he with wandering wings:
Many Summers, many Winters—
I can't tell half his adventures.
At length he came back, and with him a She,