United States or Armenia ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
They saw neither moon nor stars moving silently above them, in the warm summer night; they did not even hear the nightingales who were still repeating their favorite, flute-like, Itys-call to one another; nor did they feel the dew which fell as heavily on their fair heads as on the flowers in the grass around them.
Beshaded all the alleys that there were, And ’midst of ev’ry herbere might be seen The sharp and green sweet-scented juniper, Growing so fair with branches here and there, That, as it seemed to any one without, The branches spread the herbere all about. And on the slender green-leaved branches sat The little joyous nightingales, and sang So loud and clear, the carols consecrat To faithful love.
In rivalry with its lighter music, the nightingales are singing their song of ecstasy. Sometimes, the laughter of girls is heard and, sometimes, the melody of a waltz. The younger guests at Monksmoor are dancing. Emily and Cecilia are dressed alike in white, with flowers in their hair.
Claudet leans on his gun, and remembers that at this same hour the nightingales in the park at Vivey, and in the garden of La Thuiliere, are pouring forth the same melodies. He recalls the bright vision of Reine: he sees her leaning at her window, listening to the same amorous song issuing from the coppice woods of Maigrefontaine.
They were ordered off to bed much sooner than they approved on that fair summer night, when the half-moon was high and the nightingales were singing all round not that they cared for that, but there was a sense about them that something mysterious was going on, and Emlyn was wild with curiosity and vexation at being kept out of it.
Those who have a taste for that sort of thing will find in a modern circulating library, elaborate accounts of enough “dew-spangled grass” to make hay for an army of Nebuchadnezzars and a hundred troops of horse—of “bright-eyed daisies” and “modest violets,” enough to fence all creation with a parti-colored hedge—of “early larks” and “sweet-singing nightingales,” enough to make musical pot-pies and harmonious stews for twenty generations of Heliogabaluses; to say nothing of the amount of twaddle we find in American sensation books about “hawthorn hedges” and “heather bells,” and similar transatlantic luxuries that don’t grow in America, and never did.
Even the sound of Clement's one song, "The Ten Little Niggers," which he performed perpetually and always out of tune, would be pleasant to the ear. It had often made her cross in Albert Street, but now the thought of it was more attractive than the sweetest notes of the nightingales which sung every evening in the garden at Paradise Court.
At each moment was heard the short, metallic note of the cricket, and distant nightingales shook out their scattered notes their light, vibrant music that sets one dreaming, without thinking, a music made for kisses, for the seduction of moonlight. The abbe walked on again, his heart failing, though he knew not why.
When I was a maiden in Heidelberg, I used to roam about the woods, singing in concert with the larks and nightingales; and my deceased father, the Elector Palatine, finally declared that I was no German princess, but a metamorphosed lark, whom he constantly expected to see spread out her wings, and depart for Bird-land.
In the spring the violets' scented breath recalled her whenever I inhaled their fragrance; while, the nightingale's amorous trills we had nightingales to visit us in our suburb, closely situated as it was to London appeared to me to embody the impassioned words that Tennyson puts in the mouth of his love-wooing sea maiden
Word Of The Day