That byrd ys nat honest That fylythe hys owne nest.

Better one byrde in hand than ten in the wood.

I say, thou mad March hare.

It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries.

It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries.

Birds are everywhere in our literature, a part, it seems, of our collective poetic imagination. If writing a beautiful line of poetry fills a poet's heart with joy, imagine how that same poet's soul must take flight at the sight of swallows soaring through the evening sky!