The silver swan, who, living had no note, When death approached unlocked her silent throat.
It is proportion that beautifies everything, the whole universe consists of it, and music is measured by it.
The Silver Swan, Who Living Had No Note
The silver swan, who living had no note,
When death approach'd, unlock'd her silent throat;
Leaning her breast against the reedy shore,
Thus sung her first and last, and sung no more.
Farewell, all joys; O Death, come close mine eyes;
More geese than swans now live, more fools than wise.