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.

Some full-breasted swan
That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,
Ruffles her pure cold plume, and read 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 swan is not without cause dedicated to Apollo, because
foreseeing his happiness in death, he dies with singing read more

The swan is not without cause dedicated to Apollo, because
foreseeing his happiness in death, he dies with singing and
pleasure.
[Lat., Cignoni non sine causa Apoloni dicata sint, quod ab eo
divinationem habere videantur, qua providentes quid in morte boni
sit, cum cantu et voluptate moriantur.]

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

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

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

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.

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.

Death darkens his eyes, and unplumes his wings,
Yet the sweetest song is the last he sings:
read more

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.