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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.
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 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.
The jelous swan, agens hire deth that syngith.
The jelous swan, agens hire deth that syngith.
The immortal swan that did her life deplore.
The immortal swan that did her life deplore.
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.
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.
