cicala

Glow-worms and fireflies gleamed like diamonds among the foliage, and outside was heard the splashing of the tiny waves and the shrill cry of the cicala.

From A Desperate Voyage by Edward Frederick Knight

—With thee to lead me, O Day of mine, Down the grass path gray with dew,210 Under the pine-wood, blind with boughs, Where the swallow never flew Nor yet cicala dared carouse— No, dared carouse!

From Selections from the Poems and Plays of Robert Browning by Myra Reynolds

They had not gone far from the capital ere they plunged into a deep, dark, silent forest—silent save for the strangely monotonous song of the cicala, and so for miles, and so for many leagues.

From Wild Adventures in Wild Places by Gordon Stables

Everything that lived or grew, was oppressed by the glare; except the lizard, passing swiftly over rough stone walls, and the cicala, chirping his dry hot chirp, like a rattle.

From Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens

The cicala sang in the flower of the pomegranate, the frog sang by the pond.

From Japanese Fairy Tales by Grace James

The octagon tower casts a shade Cool and gray like a cutlass blade; In sun-baked vines the cicalas spin, The little green lizards run out and in.

From A Dome of Many-Coloured Glass by Amy Lowell

Let swans and halcyons and cicalas then be mute.

From Works of Lucian of Samosata — Volume 03 by F. G. (Francis George) Fowler

Needless to say that the cicalas around us keep up their perpetual sonorous chirping.

From Madame Chrysantheme by Pierre Loti

I, with none beside, Save hoarse cicalas shrilling through the brake, Still track your footprints 'neath the broiling sun.

From The Bucolics and Eclogues by Virgil

The frogs were singing vespers in the ditches, the sharp chorus of the cicalas shrilled on all sides.

From Little Novels of Italy by Maurice Henry Hewlett

A dry cicale chirps to a lass making hay, "Why creak'st thou, Tithonus?" quoth she.

From Ionica by William (AKA William Johnson) Cory

Their house among the hills was shut in by a row of plane-trees in which by day the cicale were shrill; at evening fireflies lit up their garden.

From Robert Browning by Edward Dowden

Thus we floated down the widening stream of the Po, sleeping when the cicale sang, awake with the stars.

From The Last Man by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

Close to her ear a cicale chirped, monotonously bright; far off, from every hill, the frogs began their evening singing.

From What Not A Prophetic Comedy by Dame Rose Macaulay

The sound of the river and of the cicale is all the noise we hear.

From Life and Letters of Robert Browning by Robert Browning