You May Also Like / View all maxioms
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.
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.
The raven once in snowy plumes was drest,
White as the whitest dove's unsullied breast,
Fair as read more
The raven once in snowy plumes was drest,
White as the whitest dove's unsullied breast,
Fair as the guardian of the Capitol,
Soft as the swan; a large and lovely fowl
His tongue, his prating tongue had changed him quite
To sooty blackness from the purest white.
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.
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.
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.
Every bird that upwards swings
Bears the Cross upon its wings.
Every bird that upwards swings
Bears the Cross upon its wings.
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.
Thou said'st--O, it comes o'er my memory
As doth the raven o'er the infected house,
Boding to read more
Thou said'st--O, it comes o'er my memory
As doth the raven o'er the infected house,
Boding to all!--He had my handkerchief.
