O Nightingale! Thou Surely Art

O Nightingale! thou surely art
A Creature of a "fiery heart" –
These notes of thine – they pierce, and pierce;
Tumultuous harmony and fierce!
Thou sing'st as if the God of wine
Had helped thee to a Valentine;
A song in mockery and despite
Of shades, and dews, and silent Night;
And steady bliss, and all the Loves
Now sleeping in these peaceful groves!

I heard a Stock-dove sing or say
His homely tale, this very day;
His voice was buried among trees,
Yet to be come at by the breeze:
He did not cease; but cooed – and cooed;
And somewhat pensively he wooed:
He sang of love, with quiet blending,
Slow to begin, and never ending;
Of serious faith, and inward glee;
That was the Song – the Song for me!

William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

Ducks’ Ditty

All along the backwater,
Through the rushes tall,
Ducks are a-dabbling,
Up tails all!
Ducks' tails, drakes' tails,
Yellow feet a-quiver,
Yellow bills all out of sight
Busy in the river!
Slushy green undergrowth
Where the roach swim —
Here we keep our larder,
Cool and full and dim.
Everyone for what he likes!
We like to be
Heads down, tails up,
Dabbling free!
High in the blue above
Swifts whirl and call —
We are down a-dabbling
Up tails all!

Kenneth Grahame (1859-1932)
from Wind in the Willows

The Thrush’s Nest

Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush
That overhung a molehill large and round,
I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush
Sing hymns to sunrise, and I drank the sound
With joy; and often, an intruding guest,
I watched her secret toil from day to day—
How true she warped the moss to form a nest,
And modelled it within with wood and clay;
And by and by, like heath-bells gilt with dew,
There lay her shining eggs, as bright as flowers,
Ink-spotted over shells of greeny blue;
And there I witnessed, in the sunny hours,
A brood of nature's minstrels chirp and fly,
Glad as the sunshine and the laughing sky.

by John Clare 1793 – 1864

Why Do Birds Sing?

Let poets piece prismatic words,
Give me the jewelled joy of birds!

What ecstasy moves them to sing?
Is it the lyric glee of Spring,
The dewy rapture of the rose?
Is it the worship born in those
Who are of Nature's self a part,
The adoration of the heart?

Is it the mating mood in them
That makes each crystal note a gem?
Oh mocking bird and nightingale,
Oh mavis, lark and robin - hail!
Tell me what perfect passion glows
In your inspired arpeggios?
A thrush is thrilling as I write
Its obligato of delight;
And in its fervour, as in mine,
I fathom tenderness divine,
And pity those of earthy ear
Who cannot hear... who cannot hear.
Let poets pattern pretty words:
For lovely largesse - bless you, Birds.

Robert William Service 1874 – 1958

Windhover

Aloof, unnoticed, silent, still as death
You hover, as fleets of traffic pass;
Below, unshielded, voles and mice hold breath
And fear, awaiting deadly daggered grasp.

Alert, unarmoured avian bazooka,
You survey, feathered sinewed steel
Bedecked, unbending softness, yet crueller
And choose, radarless, to go in for the kill.

Aloft, unrotored, when wing engines cut,
You plummet, scenting rodent blood,
Beneath, unprepared sinks victim’s gut
And pounce, pinioned, in seizing, silent thud.

Adept, untutored carrion thieves between
You despise: crows steal as wastrels.
Bespoke, unmechanised killing machine
And named, windhover verge-chief falcon: kestrel.

C. Richard Miles

Richard Miles was brought up in the Yorkshire Dales but now lives and teaches in London. He only started writing poetry in January 2008, at the age of 46 and hasn't been able to stop since, having written over 900 at the last count.

delicate birds of Great Britain

Cock `A`Doodle Doo, echo's loud.
Barn Owl, Tawny Owl, Blue Tit.
Bird groups, joining and mating.
Red Legged Partridge, Red Kite.
Egg making season approaching.
Jackdaw, Kestrel, Sparrow-hawk.

Pairs hasten, meeting as dawn breaks.
The Jay, Redwing, Long Tailed Tit.
Creating exhaustion from romance.
Cuckoo, Chaffinch, Carrion Crow.
Amorous birds bending branches.
Mistle Thrush, Robin, Bullfinch.

Warm love, shines in twinkling eyes.
Great Spotted Woodpecker, Magpie.
Many rejoicing sparrows squabble.
Wood Pigeon, Swallow, Blackbird.
Shaking blossom from a cherry tree.
Grey Wagtail, Siskin, Stock Dove.

Wonders of sweet familiar pleasure.
Pied Wagtail, Starling, Buzzard.
Restless love is fluttering in a heart.
Goldfinch, Pheasant, Treecreeper.
Gently hopping, teasing each other.
Marsh Tit, Coal Tit, A Great Tit.

Fields of soft Golden Corn beckon.
Green Woodpecker, Collared Dove.
Hark nighting gales, happy singing.
Mallard Duck, Nuthatch, Moorhen.
A lovers harmony dancing together.
Goldcrest, Dunnock, Greenfinch.

Anthony Fry

Anthony Fry lives in Jersey and has been writing poetry since he retired six years ago. Visit his website
More of his poems.

woods in winter

When winter winds are piercing chill,
And through the hawthorn blows the gale,
With solemn feet I tread the hill,
That overbrows the lonely vale.

O'er the bare upland, and away
Through the long reach of desert woods,
The embracing sunbeams chastely play,
And gladden these deep solitudes.

Where, twisted round the barren oak,
The summer vine in beauty clung,
And summer winds the stillness broke,
The crystal icicle is hung.

Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs
Pour out the river's gradual tide,
Shrilly the skater's iron rings,
And voices fill the woodland side.

Alas! how changed from the fair scene,
When birds sang out their mellow lay,
And winds were soft, and woods were green,
And the song ceased not with the day!

But still wild music is abroad,
Pale, desert woods! within your crowd;
And gathering winds, in hoarse accord,
Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud.

Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear
Has grown familiar with your song;
I hear it in the opening year,
I listen, and it cheers me long.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1807-1882