Coal-black is better than another hue
In that it scorns to bear another hue;
For all the read more

Coal-black is better than another hue
In that it scorns to bear another hue;
For all the water in the ocean
Can never turn the swan's black legs to white,
Although she lave them hourly in the flood.

I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,
read more

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.

There's a double beauty whenever a swan
Swims on a lake with her double thereon.

There's a double beauty whenever a swan
Swims on a lake with her double thereon.

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.

The immortal swan that did her life deplore.

The immortal swan that did her life deplore.

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.

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 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.

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.