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Hmm, when last I read Poe's poem it was about a dark, sinister bird who presumably personified (or avified) the human persona's conscience, squatted in his living room, and refused to move. 'And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting ...' Frankly, if I had to find a poem about a free bird it would more likely be Shelley's skylark, which at least gets to stretch its wings.