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I was always a lover of soft-winged things.
I was always a lover of soft-winged things.
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?
Birdes of a feather will flocke togither.
Birdes of a feather will flocke togither.
That byrd ys nat honest
That fylythe hys owne nest.
That byrd ys nat honest
That fylythe hys owne nest.
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.
You must not think, sir, to catch old birds with chaff.
You must not think, sir, to catch old birds with chaff.
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!
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.
