To this urn let those repair That are either true or fair; For these dead birds sigh a prayer. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
A fine morning's killing, ay! All their necks wrung - all dead birds! Once they could fly - fly and swim! Fly… — Marie Corelli Copy Share Image
“The sun is lower now and not as bright and I can see clearly where, down at the base of the blockhouse,… — Ben H Winters Copy Share Image
The fox when it sees a flock of herons or magpies or birds of that kind, suddenly flings himself on the ground… — Leonardo da Vinci Copy Share Image
The poetry of earth is never dead When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide I cooling trees,… — John Keats Copy Share Image
Frost in January minus 20 for a week. Dead birds frozen on the branch—they fall with the first thaw like ripe fruit—death-ripened.… — Lawrence Durrell Copy Share Image
