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Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west.
--
Toll Slowly; reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).

 
Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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Use what talent you possess: the woods would be very silent if no birds sang except those that sang best.

 
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What is more cheerful, now, in the fall of the year, than an open-wood-fire? Do you hear those little chirps and twitters coming out of that piece of apple-wood? Those are the ghosts of the robins and blue-birds that sang upon the bough when it was in blossom last Spring. In Summer whole flocks of them come fluttering about the fruit-trees under the window: so I have singing birds all the year round.

 
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Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
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I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

 
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Mine was a threeplank bed whereon
I lay and cursed the weary sun.
They took away the prison clothes
and on the frosty nights I froze.
I had a Bible where I read
that Jesus came to raise the dead—
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Calico Pie,
The little Birds fly
Down to the calico tree,
Their wings were blue,
And they sang "Tilly-loo!"
Till away they flew,—
And they never came back to me!

 
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