The caged bird sings with a fearful trill,
of things unknown, but longed for still,
and his tune is heard on the distant hill,
for the caged bird sings of freedom.
That sound in tune to you? … Sounds sharp to me. Sounds like I'm playing sharp all the time. My singing teacher told us you should do that. Maybe I got it from her. She said singers when they grow old have a tendency to go flat. So if you sing sharp as a young person, as you get older and go flat, you'll be in tune. In other words, it's never thought good to be flat. It means you can't get to the tone.
Love birds don't always sing pretty tunes.
Be a bird perched on a frail branch that she feels bending beneath her, still she sings away all the same, knowing she has wings.
One of the historians of Darranda said: To learn a belief without belief is to sing a song without the tune.
There are melodies that must have words… and melodies that sing themselves without words.
How wrong Emily Dickinson was! Hope is not "the thing with feathers." The thing with feathers has turned out to be my nephew. I must take him to a specialist in Zurich.
"Hope" is the thing with feathers —
That perches in the soul —
And sings the tune without the words —
And never stops — at all — And sweetest — in the Gale — is heard —
And sore must be the storm —
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm —
We all have our la-la-la song. The thing we do when the world isn't singing a nice tune to us. We sing our own nice tune to drown out ugly.
Such hopes now seemed ludicrous in their naivety, like trying to stop a bulldozer with a feather.