Swans Quotes ( 10 - 20 of 25 )
We bodged again, as I have been a swan
With bootless labor swim against the tide
And read more
We bodged again, as I have been a swan
With bootless labor swim against the tide
And spend her strength with overmatching waves.
I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,
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I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,
And from the organ-pipe of fraity sings
His soul and body to their lasting rest.
Let music sound while he doth make his choice;
Then if he lose he makes a swanlike end,
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Let music sound while he doth make his choice;
Then if he lose he makes a swanlike end,
Fading in music.
I will play the swan,
And die in music.
I will play the swan,
And die in music.
Death darkens his eyes, and unplumes his wings,
Yet the sweetest song is the last he sings:
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Death darkens his eyes, and unplumes his wings,
Yet the sweetest song is the last he sings:
Live so, my Love, that when death shall come,
Swan-like and sweet it may waft thee home.
The immortal swan that did her life deplore.
The immortal swan that did her life deplore.
The dying swan, when years her temples pierce,
In music-strains breathes out her life and verse,
And, read more
The dying swan, when years her temples pierce,
In music-strains breathes out her life and verse,
And, chanting her own dirge, tides on her wat'ry hearse.
The swan in the pool is singing,
And up and down doth he steer,
And, singing gently read more
The swan in the pool is singing,
And up and down doth he steer,
And, singing gently ever,
Dips under the water clear.
And over the pond are sailing
Two swans all white as snow;
Sweet voices mysteriously wailing
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And over the pond are sailing
Two swans all white as snow;
Sweet voices mysteriously wailing
Pierce through me as onward they go.
They sail along, and a ringing
Sweet melody rises on high;
And when the swans begin singing,
They presently must die.
The swan, like the soul of the poet,
By the dull world is ill understood.
The swan, like the soul of the poet,
By the dull world is ill understood.