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I was always a lover of soft-winged things.
I was always a lover of soft-winged things.
Hear how the birds, on ev'ry blooming spray,
With joyous musick wake the dawning day.
Hear how the birds, on ev'ry blooming spray,
With joyous musick wake the dawning day.
The nightingale has a lyre of gold,
The lark's is a clarion call,
And the blackbird plays read more
The nightingale has a lyre of gold,
The lark's is a clarion call,
And the blackbird plays but a boxwood flute,
But I love him best of all.
For his song is all the joy of life,
And we in the mad spring weather,
We two have listened till he sang
Our hearts and lips together.
The woosel cock so black of hue,
With orange-tawny bill,
The throstle with his note so true,
read more
The woosel cock so black of hue,
With orange-tawny bill,
The throstle with his note so true,
The wren with little quill--
. . . .
The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,
The plain-song cuckoo grey,
Whose note full many a man doth mark,
And dares not answer nay.
Birds of a feather will gather together.
Birds of a feather will gather together.
He is a fool who lets slip a bird in the hand for a bird in the
bush.
He is a fool who lets slip a bird in the hand for a bird in the
bush.
To warm their little loves the birds complain.
To warm their little loves the birds complain.
Every bird that upwards swings
Bears the Cross upon its wings.
Every bird that upwards swings
Bears the Cross upon its wings.
