With thee conversing I forget all time,
All seasons, and their change; all please
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest birds.
We gotta be free —
The eagle and me.
Edgar Y. Harburg
The Admiral says that he never beheld so fair a thing: trees all along the river, beautiful and green, and different from ours, with flowers and fruits each according to their kind, many birds and little birds which sing very sweetly.
The wakeful nightingale,
She all night long her amorous descant sung;
Silence was pleased: now glowed the firmament
With living sapphires: Hesperus, that led
The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon,
Rising in clouded majesty, at length
Apparent queen unveiled her peerless light,
And o’er the dark her silver mantle threw.
Where then does wisdom come from?
Where does understanding dwell?
It is hidden from the eyes of every living thing,
concealed even from the birds in the sky.
All nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair-
The bees are stirring- birds are on the wing –
And Winter slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.
A bird of the air shall carry the voice, and
that which hath wings shall tell the matter.
Now the summer came to pass
And flowers through the grass
While all the tribes of birds sang.
Avoid the reeking herd,
Shun the polluted flock,
Live like that stoic bird
The eagle of the rock.
Their ships are swift as a bird or thought.