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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.
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.
I will play the swan,
And die in music.
I will play the swan,
And die in music.
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.
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.
Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,
Where nothing save the waves and I
May hear our mutual read more
Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,
Where nothing save the waves and I
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
There, swan-like, let me sing and 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.
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!
