The Attic warbler pours her throat, / Responsive to the cuckoo's note.

No bird has ever uttered note That was not in some first bird's throat; Since Eden's freshness and man's fall No rose has been original

The meanest flowret of the vale, / The simplest note that swells the gale, / The common sun, the air, and skies, / To him are opening paradise.

It never rains, but it pours

No bird has ever uttered note That was not in some first bird's throat; Since Eden's freshness and man's fall No rose has been original.

When it rains it pours. That about sums it up.