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Help wanted from birders with English backgrounds

To: <>
Subject: Help wanted from birders with English backgrounds
From: "Tim Murphy" <>
Date: Thu, 5 Feb 2004 07:25:13 +1000
Thanks for every one who helped with the lonely bird. The consensus is the Europen Curlew with close second for the Lapwing (aka Peewit).
 
The film is called "The way through the woods"  and will be out in 2004. I'll have to go to see it now to see what the bird is used for. See http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0369053/ for more details.
 
Best regards
 
Tim Murphy
 
For your interest you might like.

He reproves the Curlew

O CURLEW, cry no more in the air,
Or only to the water in the West;
Because your crying brings to my mind
passion-dimmed eyes and long heavy hair
That was shaken out over my breast:
There is enough evil in the crying of wind.

The withering of the boughs

I cried when the moon was murmuring to the birds,

Let peewit call and curlew cry where they will,

I long for your merry and tender and pitiful words,

For the roads are unending, and there is no place to my mind.

The honey-pale moon lay low on the sleepy hill,

And I fell asleep upon lonely Echtge of streams.

No boughs have withered because of the wintry wind;

The boughs have withered because I have told them my dreams.

I know of the leafy paths the witches take,

Who come with their crowns of pearl and their spindles of wool,

And their secret smile, out of the depths of the lake;

I know where a dim moon drifts, where the Danaan kind

Wind and unwind their dances when the light grows cool

On the island lawns, their feet where the pale foam gleams.

No boughs have withered because of the wintry wind;

The boughs have withered because I have told them my dreams.

I know of the sleepy country, where swans fly round

Coupled with golden chains, and sing as they fly.

A king and a queen are wandering there, and the sound

Has made them so happy and hopeless, so deaf and so blind

With wisdom, they wander till all the years have gone by;

I know. and the curlew and peewit on Echtge of streams.

No boughs have withered because of the wintry wind;

The boughs have withered because I have told them my dreams.

 

W. B. Yeats. as well

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