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,

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.

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.

That byrd ys nat honest
That fylythe hys owne nest.

That byrd ys nat honest
That fylythe hys owne nest.

Curse not the king, no not in thy thought; and curse not the rich
in thy bedchamber; for a read more

Curse not the king, no not in thy thought; and curse not the rich
in thy bedchamber; for a bird of the air shall carry the voice,
and that which hath wings shall tell the matter.

To warm their little loves the birds complain.

To warm their little loves the birds complain.

Birdes of a feather will flocke togither.

Birdes of a feather will flocke togither.

You must not think, sir, to catch old birds with chaff.

You must not think, sir, to catch old birds with chaff.

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.