As it fell upon a day In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade Which a grove of myrtles made. (Quote by - Richard Barnfield)

The nightingale appear'd the first, And as her melody she sang, The apple into blossom burst, To life the grass and violets sprang. (Quote by - Heinrich Heine)

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? (Quote by - John Keats)

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! (Quote by - Matthew Arnold)

What bird so sings, yet does so wail? O, 'tis the ravish'd nightingale-- Jug, jug, jug, jug--tereu, she cries, And still her woes at midnight rise. (Quote by - John Lyly)

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. (Quote by - William Drummond (1))

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. (Quote by - John Milton)

Like a wedding-song all-melting Sings the nightingale, the dear one. (Quote by - Heinrich Heine)

Tis the merry nightingale That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates With fast thick warble his delicious notes, As he were fearful that an April night Would be too short for him to utter forth His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul Of all its music! (Quote by - Samuel Taylor Coleridge)

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. (Quote by - Francesco Petrarch)

For as nightingales do upon glow-worms feed, So poets live upon the living light. (Quote by - Philip James Bailey)

The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark When neither is attended; and I think The nightingale, if she should sing by day When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren. How many thing by season seasoned are To their right praise and true perfection! (Quote by - William Shakespeare)

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. (Quote by - John Milton)

I said to the Nightingale: "Hail, all hail! Pierce with thy trill the dark, Like a glittering music-spark, When the earth grows pale and dumb." (Quote by - Dinah Maria Mulock)

To the red rising moon, and loud and deep The nightingale is singing from the steep. (Quote by - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

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. (Quote by - Christina G. Rossetti)

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. (Quote by - John Keats)

Most musical, most melancholy" bird! A melancholy bird! Oh! idle thought! In nature there is nothing melancholy. (Quote by - Samuel Taylor Coleridge)

The angel of spring, the mellow-throated nightingale. (Quote by - Christina G. Rossetti)

Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, Portend success in love. (Quote by - John Milton)

I have head the nightingale herself. (Quote by - Agesilaus)

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. (Quote by - Christina G. Rossetti)

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. (Quote by - John Keble)

Where the nightingale doth sing Not a senseless, tranced thing, But divine melodious truth. (Quote by - John Keats)