It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
Birds sing after a storm; why shouldn't people feel as free to delight in whatever sunlight remains to them?
When sparrows build and the leaves break forth, My old sorrow wakes and cries.
Birds are indicators of the environment. If they are in trouble, we know we'll soon be in trouble.
A great wind is blowing, and that gives you either imagination or a headache.
It is only in sorrow bad weather masters us; in joy we face the storm and defy it.
The wind is a very difficult sound to get. It's always changing.
After a storm comes a calm.
Human misery must somewhere have a stop; there is no wind that always blows a storm.
The very idea of a bird is a symbol and a suggestion to the poet. A bird seems to be at the top of the scale, so vehement and intense is his life, large-brained, large-lunged, hot, ecstatic, his frame charged with buoyancy and his heart with song.
And all the winds go sighing, for sweet things dying.