Nightingales Quotes ( 10 - 20 of 25 )
Soft as Memnon's harp at morning,
To the inward ear devout,
Touched by light, with heavenly warning
read more
Soft as Memnon's harp at morning,
To the inward ear devout,
Touched by light, with heavenly warning
Your transporting chords ring out.
Every leaf in every nook,
Every wave in every brook,
Chanting with a solemn voice
Minds us of our better choice.
To the red rising moon, and loud and deep
The nightingale is singing from the steep.
To the red rising moon, and loud and deep
The nightingale is singing from the steep.
What bird so sings, yet does so wail?
O, 'tis the ravish'd nightingale--
Jug, jug, jug, jug--tereu, read more
What bird so sings, yet does so wail?
O, 'tis the ravish'd nightingale--
Jug, jug, jug, jug--tereu, she cries,
And still her woes at midnight rise.
'Tis the merry nightingale
That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates
With fast thick warble his delicious notes,
read more
'Tis the merry nightingale
That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates
With fast thick warble his delicious notes,
As he were fearful that an April night
Would be too short for him to utter forth
His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul
Of all its music!
Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours,
Of winter's past or coming void of care,
Well read more
Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours,
Of winter's past or coming void of care,
Well pleased with delights which present are,
Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers.
Like a wedding-song all-melting
Sings the nightingale, the dear one.
Like a wedding-song all-melting
Sings the nightingale, the dear one.
The nightingale appear'd the first,
And as her melody she sang,
The apple into blossom burst,
read more
The nightingale appear'd the first,
And as her melody she sang,
The apple into blossom burst,
To life the grass and violets sprang.
I have head the nightingale herself.
I have head the nightingale herself.
Hark! ah, the nightingale--
The tawny-throated!
Hark from that moonlit cedar what a burst!
read more
Hark! ah, the nightingale--
The tawny-throated!
Hark from that moonlit cedar what a burst!
What triumph! hark!--what pain!
. . . .
Again--thou hearest?
Eternal passion!
Eternal pain!
For as nightingales do upon glow-worms feed,
So poets live upon the living light.
For as nightingales do upon glow-worms feed,
So poets live upon the living light.
