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Cicero (Marcus Tullius Cicero)
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.]
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Cicero (Marcus Tullius Cicero)
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.
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Heinrich Heine
The swan in the pool is singing, And up and down doth he steer, And, singing gently ever, Dips under the water clear.
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Heinrich Heine
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.
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Heinrich Heine
The swan, like the soul of the poet, By the dull world is ill understood.
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James Thomson
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.
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John Milton
The swan, with arched neck Between her white wings mantling proudly, rows Her state with oary feet.
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John Milton
Thus does the white swan, as he lies on the wet grass, when the Fates summon him, sing at the fords of Maeander.
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Lord Alfred Tennyson
The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Of that waste place with joy Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear The warble was low, and full and clear.
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Lord Alfred Tennyson
Some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs.
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Marcus Valerius Martial
The swan murmurs sweet strains with a flattering tongue, itself the singer of its own dirge.
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Phineas Fletcher
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.
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Socrates
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.
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Thomas Hood
There's a double beauty whenever a swan Swims on a lake with her double thereon.
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William Shakespeare
Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can Her heart inform her tongue--the swan's down-feather That stands upon the swell at full of tide, And neither way inclines.
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William Shakespeare
We bodged again, as I have been a swan With bootless labor swim against the tide And spend her strength with overmatching waves.
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