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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,
A feather in hand is better then a bird in the ayre.
[A feather in hand is better than read more
A feather in hand is better then a bird in the ayre.
[A feather in hand is better than a bird in the air.]
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!
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.
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.
A rare bird upon the earth, and exceedingly like a black swan.
[Lat., Rara avis in terris, nigroque simillima read more
A rare bird upon the earth, and exceedingly like a black swan.
[Lat., Rara avis in terris, nigroque simillima cygno.]
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
A bird in the hand is worth two 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.
