| Author |
Quotes |
| Agesilaus | I have head the nightingale herself. |
| Christina G Rossetti | The sunrise wakes the lark to sing, The moonrise wakes the nightingale. Come, darkness, moonrise, everything That is so silent, sweet, and pale: Come, so ye wake the nightingale. |
| Christina G Rossetti | Hark! that's the nightingale, Telling the self-same tale Her song told when this ancient earth was young: So echoes answered when her song was sung In the first wooded vale. |
| Christina G Rossetti | The angel of spring, the mellow-throated nightingale. |
| Francesco Petrarch | 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. |
| Heinrich Heine | Like a wedding-song all-melting Sings the nightingale, the dear one. |
| Heinrich Heine | The nightingale appear'd the first, And as her melody she sang, The apple into blossom burst, To life the grass and violets sprang. |
| John Keats | Where the nightingale doth sing Not a senseless, tranced thing, But divine melodious truth. |
| John Keats | Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:--do I wake or sleep? |
| John Keats | Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown. |
| John Keble | Soft as Memnon's harp at morning, To the inward ear devout, Touched by light, with heavenly warning Your transporting chords ring out. Every leaf in every nook, Every wave in every brook, Chanting with a solemn voice Minds us of our better choice. |
| Matthew Arnold | 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! |
| Richard Barnfield | As it fell upon a day In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade Which a grove of myrtles made. |
| William Drummond | Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours, Of winter's past or coming void of care, Well pleased with delights which present are, Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers. |
| Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | To the red rising moon, and loud and deep The nightingale is singing from the steep. |
| John Milton | Sweet bird that shunn'st the nose of folly, Most musical, most melancholy! Thee, chauntress, oft, the woods among, I woo, to hear thy even-song. |
| John Milton | O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill While the jolly hours lead on propitious May. |
| John Milton | Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, Portend success in love. |
| Philip James Bailey | For as nightingales do upon glow-worms feed, So poets live upon the living light. |
| Samuel Taylor Coleridge | "Most musical, most melancholy" bird! A melancholy bird! Oh! idle thought! In nature there is nothing melancholy. |
| - Page 1 - 2 - Next |