Swans Quotes

Coal-black is better than another hue
In that it scorns to bear another hue;
For all the more

Coal-black is better than another hue
In that it scorns to bear another hue;
For all the water in the ocean
Can never turn the swan's black legs to white,
Although she lave them hourly in the flood.

You think that upon the score of fore-knowledge and divining I am
infinitely inferior to the swans. When they more

You think that upon the score of fore-knowledge and divining I am
infinitely inferior to the swans. When they perceive approaching
death they sing more merrily than before, because of the joy they
have in going to the God they serve.

The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul
Of that waste place with joy
Hidden in sorrow: at more

The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul
Of that waste place with joy
Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear
The warble was low, and full and clear.

Some full-breasted swan
That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,
Ruffles her pure cold plume, and more

Some full-breasted swan
That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,
Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood
With swarthy webs.

The stately-sailing swan
Gives out his snowy plumage to the gale;
And, arching proud his neck, with more

The stately-sailing swan
Gives out his snowy plumage to the gale;
And, arching proud his neck, with oary feet
Bears forward fierce, and guards his osier isle,
Protective of his young.

The swan on still St. Mary's lake
Float double, swan and shadow!

The swan on still St. Mary's lake
Float double, swan and shadow!

The swan murmurs sweet strains with a flattering tongue, itself
the singer of its own dirge.

The swan murmurs sweet strains with a flattering tongue, itself
the singer of its own dirge.

The swan, with arched neck
Between her white wings mantling proudly, rows
Her state with oary feet.

The swan, with arched neck
Between her white wings mantling proudly, rows
Her state with oary feet.

Thus does the white swan, as he lies on the wet grass, when the
Fates summon him, sing at more

Thus does the white swan, as he lies on the wet grass, when the
Fates summon him, sing at the fords of Maeander.

Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can
Her heart inform her tongue--the swan's down-feather
That more

Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can
Her heart inform her tongue--the swan's down-feather
That stands upon the swell at full of tide,
And neither way inclines.