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That byrd ys nat honest
That fylythe hys owne nest.
That byrd ys nat honest
That fylythe hys owne nest.
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,
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
That which prevents disagreeable flies from feeding on your
repast, was once the proud tail of a splendid bird.
That which prevents disagreeable flies from feeding on your
repast, was once the proud tail of a splendid bird.
A feather in hand is better then a bird in the ayre.
[A feather in hand is better than read more
A feather in hand is better then a bird in the ayre.
[A feather in hand is better than a bird in the air.]
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.
When the swallows homeward fly,
When the roses scattered lie,
When from neither hill or dale,
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When the swallows homeward fly,
When the roses scattered lie,
When from neither hill or dale,
Chants the silvery nightingale:
In these works my bleeding heart
Would to thee its brief impart;
When I thus thy image lose
Can I, ah! can I, e'er know repose?
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.
