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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.
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,
Birdes of a feather will flocke togither.
Birdes of a feather will flocke togither.
Every bird that upwards swings
Bears the Cross upon its wings.
Every bird that upwards swings
Bears the Cross upon its wings.
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.
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.
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.
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.
