family of birds
(Redirected from Thrush)
The thrushes, family Turdidae, are a group of passerine birds that occur worldwide.
- The throstle with his note so true,
The wren with little quill.
- William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream (c. 1595-96), Act III, scene 1, line 130.
- That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
- Robert Browning, Dramatic Romances and Lyrics (1845), Home Thoughts from Abroad, line 14.
- When rosy plumelets tuft the larch,
And rarely pipes the mounted thrush.
- Alfred Tennyson, In Memoriam A.H.H. (1849), Part XCI.
Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical QuotationsEdit
- Quotes reported in Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922), p. 790-91.
- Across the noisy street
I hear him careless throw
One warning utterance sweet;
Then faint at first, and low,
The full notes closer grow;
Hark, what a torrent gush!
They pour, they overflow—
Sing on, sing on, O thrush!
- Austin Dobson, Ballad of the Thrush.
- O thrush, your song is passing sweet,
But never a song that you have sung
Is half so sweet as thrushes sang
When my dear love and I were young.
- William Morris, Other Days.
- In the gloamin' o' the wood
The throssil whusslit sweet.
- William Motherwell, Jeanie Morrison.
- I said to the brown, brown thrush:
Through the wood's full strains I hear
Thy monotone deep and clear,
Like a sound amid sounds most fine."
- Dinah Craik, A Rhyme About Birds.
- Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing!
Meet the moon upon the lea;
Are the emeralds of the spring
On the angler's trysting-tree?
Tell, sweet thrushes, tell to me,
Are there buds on our willow-tree?
Buds and birds on our trysting-tree?
- Thomas Tod Stoddart, The Angler's Trysting-Tree.
With sudden gush
As from a fountain sings in yonder bush
The Hermit Thrush.
- John Bannister Tabb, Overflow.
- At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears,
Hangs a thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years.
- William Wordsworth, Reverie of Poor Susan.
- And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.
- William Wordsworth, The Tables Turned.