The owl, that bird of onomatopoetic name, is a repetitious question wrapped in feathery insulation especially for Winter delivery.

Nothing wholly admirable ever happens in this country except the migration of birds.

That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture. The first fine careless rapture!

No ladder needs the bird but skies To situate its wings, Nor any leaders grim baton Arraigns it as it sings.

If you lie down in a village square hoping to capture a sea gull, you could stay there your whole life without succeeding. But a hundred miles from shore it's different. Sea gulls have a highly developed instinct for self-preservation on land but at sea they're very cocky.

Cheerfulness is proper to the cock, which rejoices over every little thing, and crows with varied and lively movements.

He clasps the crag with crooked hands; Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ringed with the azure world, he stands. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls.

Because the road is rough and long, Should we despise the skylark's song?

Be thou like the bird perched upon some frail thing, although he feels the branch bending beneath him, yet loudly sings, knowing full well that he has wings.

The idea of the nest in the bird's mind, where does it come from?