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.

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.

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.]

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.

You think that upon the score of fore-knowledge and divining I am
infinitely inferior to the swans. When they read more

You think that upon the score of fore-knowledge and divining I am
infinitely inferior to the swans. When they perceive approaching
death they sing more merrily than before, because of the joy they
have in going to the God they serve.

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 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.

All our geese are swans.

All our geese are swans.

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.