Curse not the king, no not in thy thought; and curse not the rich
in thy bedchamber; for a read more

Curse not the king, no not in thy thought; and curse not the rich
in thy bedchamber; for a bird of the air shall carry the voice,
and that which hath wings shall tell the matter.

Fish got to swim and birds got to fly
I got to love one man till I die,
read more

Fish got to swim and birds got to fly
I got to love one man till I die,
Can't help lovin' dat man of mine.

You must not think, sir, to catch old birds with chaff.

You must not think, sir, to catch old birds with chaff.

Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these?
Do you ne'er think who made them, and who taught
read more

Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these?
Do you ne'er think who made them, and who taught
The dialect they speak, where melodies
Alone are the interpreters of thought?
Whose household words are songs in many keys,
Sweeter than instrument of man e'er caught!
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven, wandering from the Nightly
shore,--
Tell me what thy lordly name is on read more

Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven, wandering from the Nightly
shore,--
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore!"

Over increasingly large areas of the United States, spring now
comes unheralded by the return of the birds, and read more

Over increasingly large areas of the United States, spring now
comes unheralded by the return of the birds, and the early
mornings are strangely silent where once they were filled with
the beauty of bird song.

Birds of a feather will gather together.

Birds of a feather will gather together.

Better one byrde in hand than ten in the wood.

Better one byrde in hand than ten in the wood.

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.