Crossword-Solution: NIGHTINGALES
We have 2 clues for the answer “NIGHTINGALES”
| Clue | Answers |
|---|---|
| Nocturnal singers | 1 answer |
| Sweet singers. | 2 answers |
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Kind of apple
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Hint 1 meaning
One who, or that which, eats.
Hint 2 anagram
ERETA
Hint 3 another clue
greedy person
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Sentences with NIGHTINGALES (5)
Long-suffering father, Oedipus, the towers That fence the city still are faint and far; But where we stand is surely holy ground; A wilderness of laurel, olive, vine; Within a choir or songster nightingales Are warbling.
When, however, it was discovered, by a serious cross-examination, that the Thane of Coningsburgh (or Franklin, as the Normans termed him) had no idea what he had been devouring, and that he had taken the contents of the Karum-pie for larks and pigeons, whereas they were in fact beccaficoes and nightingales, his ignorance brought him in for an ample share of the ridicule which would have been more justly bestowed on his gluttony.
And whiles this was a-doing, the sun was sinking fast, and it was dusk in the hall by then it was done, though without the sky was fair and golden, and about the edges of the thicket were the nightingales singing loud and sweet, but within was the turmoil of many voices, whereof few heeded if their words were loud or soft.
The night birds—or, rather, they’re a kind of early morning bird—sang out with their long, falling notes like nightingales.
When he walked, it must be with a book in his pocket to beguile the way in case the nightingales were silent; and even along the streets of London, with so many pretty faces to be spied for and dignitaries to be saluted, his trail was marked by little debts “for wine, pictures, etc.,” the true headmark of a life intolerant of any joyless passage.
Quotes with NIGHTINGALES (3)
Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of two nightingales, the sweet pea that has run wild, Creation's tears in shoulder blades.
In my craft or sullen art Exercised in the still night When only the moon rages And the lovers lie abed With all their griefs in their arms, I labour by singing light Not for ambition or bread Or the strut and trade of charms On the ivory stages But for the common wages Of their most secret heart. Not for the proud man apart From the raging moon I write On these spindrift pages Nor for the towering dead With their nightingales and psalms But for the lovers, their arms Round t…
Formerly I believed books were made like this: a poet came, lightly opened his lips, and the inspired fool burst into song — if you please! But it seems, before they can launch a song, poets must tramp for days with callused feet, and the sluggish fish of the imagination flounders softly in the slush of the heart. And while, with twittering rhymes, they boil a broth of loves and nightingales, the tongueless street merely writhes for lack of something to shout or say
Where this answer appears
Appears in: NYT.
Used 2 times in crossword archives (1966–1988).