Quotes about titmouse
What is the purpose of the giant sequoia tree? The purpose of the giant sequoia tree is to provide shade for the tiny titmouse.
quote by Edward Abbey
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Woods At Night
The binocular owl,
fastened to a limb
like a lantern
all night long,
sees where all
the other birds sleep:
towhee under leaves,
titmouse deep
in a twighouse,
sapsucker gripped
to a knothole lip,
redwing in the reeds,
swallow in the willow,
flicker in the oak -
but cannot see poor
whippoorwill
[...] Read more
poem by May Swenson
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Crusoe
he sat alone sipping
his Bloody Mary
a concoction
of many nutrients
stirring
using his celery stick
to swizzle its blend
he watched
the cloud cover graying
and rogue raindrops
falling like an eye of tear
against the sharpness
of a titmouse chirping
a rainforest
surrounded
his fortress of solitude
as he travelled far
without leaving,
[...] Read more
poem by Ovidd Bcw
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The Titmouse
If you would happy company win,
Dangle a palm-nut from a tree,
Idly in green to sway and spin,
Its snow-pulped kernel for bait; and see,
A nimble titmouse enter in.
Out of earth's vast unknown of air,
Out of all summer, from wave to wave,
He'll perch, and prank his feathers fair,
Jangle a glass-clear wildering stave,
And take his commons there —
This tiny son of life; this spright,
By momentary Human sought,
Plume will his wing in the dappling light,
Clash timbrel shrill and gay —
And into time's enormous nought,
Sweet-fed, will flit away.
poem by Walter de la Mare
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Spring
Good morning dear daddy,
Good morning dear mum,
Good morning dear Teddy,
It looks the spring has come.
Awakened at the dawn
My dream at once has gone.
I’ve heard the song of starling,
Our feathered friends are coming.
The sparrows are chirping,
The titmouse is whistling,
The starling pours the trills,
The warmth of spring it feels.
The magic sounds fill the world
The drops from roofs are pearled.
These drops are ringing,
The whole world is singing.
[...] Read more
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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The Winter's Come
Sweet chestnuts brown like soling leather turn;
The larch trees, like the colour of the Sun;
That paled sky in the Autumn seemed to burn,
What a strange scene before us now does run--
Red, brown, and yellow, russet, black, and dun;
White thorn, wild cherry, and the poplar bare;
The sycamore all withered in the sun.
No leaves are now upon the birch tree there:
All now is stript to the cold wintry air.
See, not one tree but what has lost its leaves--
And yet the landscape wears a pleasing hue.
The winter chill on his cold bed receives
Foliage which once hung oer the waters blue.
Naked and bare the leafless trees repose.
Blue-headed titmouse now seeks maggots rare,
Sluggish and dull the leaf-strewn river flows;
That is not green, which was so through the year
Dark chill November draweth to a close.
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poem by John Clare
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Eve
Eve, with her basket, was
Deep in the bells and grass,
Wading in bells and grass
Up to her knees,
Picking a dish of sweet
Berries and plums to eat,
Down in the bell and grass
Under the trees.
Mute as a mouse in a
Corner the cobra lay,
Circled round a bough of the
Cinnamon tall. . . .
Now to get even and
Humble proud heaven and
Now was the moment or
Never at all.
'Eva!' Each syllable
Light as a flower fell,
'Eva!' he whispered the
Wondering maid,
[...] Read more
poem by Ralph Hodgson
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The Coo of the Cushat
Over the smooth lawns, broider'd with violets,
Over the hedges of snow-white thorn,
Over the billowy, pink apple-blossoms,
The musical coo of the cushat is borne.
In the still depths of the dim old plantations,
Where the sweet whispering night-wind stirs
The delicate scent from the dew-sprinkled flowers,
It sings by its nest in the tall green firs.
So peaceful, so pure, so divinely contented,
The world out of sight and its true love nigh
Their little grey wings softly folded together,—
What dreams I have set to that melody!
I listen at dawn, and I listen at even;
I hear the notes bubbling all day long
Through the woodpecker's laugh and the chirp of the titmouse,—
Little dove, yours is the sweetest song!
[...] Read more
poem by Ada Cambridge
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The Passing Of The Primroses
Primroses, why do you pass away?
Primroses
Nay, rather, why should we longer stay?
We are not needed, now stooping showers
Have sandalled the feet of May with flowers.
Surely, surely, 'tis time to go,
Now that the splendid bluebells blow,
Scattering a bridal peal, to hail
June blushing under her hawthorn veil.
We abode with you all the long winter through:
You may not have seen us, but we saw you,
Chafing your hands in the beaded haze,
And shivering home to your Yuletide blaze.
Why should we linger, when all things pass?
We have buried old Winter beneath the grass,
Seen the first larch break, heard the first lamb bleat,
[...] Read more
poem by Alfred Austin
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The Titmouse
You shall not be overbold
When you deal with arctic cold,
As late I found my lukewarm blood
Chilled wading in the snow-choked wood.
How should I fight? my foeman fine
Has million arms to one of mine:
East, west, for aid I looked in vain,
East, west, north, south, are his domain.
Miles off, three dangerous miles, is home;
Must borrow his winds who there would come.
Up and away for life! be fleet!--
The frost-king ties my fumbling feet,
Sings in my ears, my hands are stones,
Curdles the blood to the marble bones,
Tugs at the heart-strings, numbs the sense,
And hems in life with narrowing fence.
Well, in this broad bed lie and sleep,
The punctual stars will vigil keep,
Embalmed by purifying cold,
The winds shall sing their dead-march old,
[...] Read more
poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson
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