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  24  /  32  

Yon nightingale, whose strain so sweetly flows,
Mourning her ravish'd young or much-loved mate,
A soothing charm read more

Yon nightingale, whose strain so sweetly flows,
Mourning her ravish'd young or much-loved mate,
A soothing charm o'er all the valleys throws
And skies, with notes well tuned to her and state.

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  3  /  15  

I have head the nightingale herself.

I have head the nightingale herself.

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  4  /  16  

For as nightingales do upon glow-worms feed,
So poets live upon the living light.

For as nightingales do upon glow-worms feed,
So poets live upon the living light.

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"Most musical, most melancholy" bird!
A melancholy bird! Oh! idle thought!
In nature there is nothing melancholy.

"Most musical, most melancholy" bird!
A melancholy bird! Oh! idle thought!
In nature there is nothing melancholy.

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  18  /  36  

Where the nightingale doth sing
Not a senseless, tranced thing,
But divine melodious truth.

Where the nightingale doth sing
Not a senseless, tranced thing,
But divine melodious truth.

by John Keats Found in: Nightingales Quotes,
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  7  /  17  

Hark! ah, the nightingale--
The tawny-throated!
Hark from that moonlit cedar what a burst!
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Hark! ah, the nightingale--
The tawny-throated!
Hark from that moonlit cedar what a burst!
What triumph! hark!--what pain!
. . . .
Again--thou hearest?
Eternal passion!
Eternal pain!

by Matthew Arnold Found in: Nightingales Quotes,
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  4  /  21  

To the red rising moon, and loud and deep
The nightingale is singing from the steep.

To the red rising moon, and loud and deep
The nightingale is singing from the steep.

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  11  /  28  

The nightingale appear'd the first,
And as her melody she sang,
The apple into blossom burst,
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The nightingale appear'd the first,
And as her melody she sang,
The apple into blossom burst,
To life the grass and violets sprang.

by Heinrich Heine Found in: Nightingales Quotes,
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  7  /  16  

'Tis the merry nightingale
That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates
With fast thick warble his delicious notes,
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'Tis the merry nightingale
That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates
With fast thick warble his delicious notes,
As he were fearful that an April night
Would be too short for him to utter forth
His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul
Of all its music!

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