Maxioms by Nathaniel Parker Willis
'Tis a bird I love, with its brooding note,
And the trembling throb in its mottled throat;
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'Tis a bird I love, with its brooding note,
And the trembling throb in its mottled throat;
There's a human look in its swelling breast,
And the gentle curve of its lowly crest;
And I often stop with the fear I feel--
He runs so close to the rapid wheel.
It is the month of June,
The month of leaves and roses,
When pleasant sights salute the read more
It is the month of June,
The month of leaves and roses,
When pleasant sights salute the eyes
And pleasant scents the noses.
