Birdes of a feather will flocke togither.

Birdes of a feather will flocke togither.

The bird
That glads the night had cheer'd the listening groves with sweet
complainings.

The bird
That glads the night had cheer'd the listening groves with sweet
complainings.

That byrd ys nat honest
That fylythe hys owne nest.

That byrd ys nat honest
That fylythe hys owne nest.

The woosel cock so black of hue,
With orange-tawny bill,
The throstle with his note so true,
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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.

Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit 'em, but remember
it's a sin to kill a read more

Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit 'em, but remember
it's a sin to kill a mockingbird.

I heard a bird so sing,
Whose music, to my thinking, pleased the king.

I heard a bird so sing,
Whose music, to my thinking, pleased the king.

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.

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
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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,