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Better one byrde in hand than ten in the wood.
Better one byrde in hand than ten in the wood.
Never look for birds of this year in the nests of the last.
Never look for birds of this year in the nests of the last.
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?
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.
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.
Thou little bird, thou dweller by the sea,
Why takest thou its melancholy voice,
And with that read more
Thou little bird, thou dweller by the sea,
Why takest thou its melancholy voice,
And with that boding cry
Along the waves dost thou fly?
Oh! rather, bird, with me
Through this fair land rejoice!
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.
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,
