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

The swan on still St. Mary's lake Float double, swan and shadow!

The swan murmurs sweet strains with a flattering tongue, itself the singer of its own dirge.

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.

Some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs.

The jelous swan, agens hire deth that syngith.