The Phoenix and the Ashes

O Blest unfabled Incense Tree, That burns in glorious Araby, With red scent chalicing the air, Till earth-life grow Elysian there! Half buried to her flaming breast In this bright tree, she makes her nest, Hundred sunn'd Phoenix! When she must Crumble at length to hoary dust! Her gorgous death-bed! Her rich pyre Burnt up with aromatic fire! Her urn, sight high from spoiler men! Her birthplace when self-born again! The mountainless green wilds among, Here ends she her unechoing song! With amber tears and oderous sighs Mourn'd by the desert where she dies! Laid like the young fawn mossily In sun-green vales of Araby, I woke hard by the Phoenix tree That with shadeless boughs flamed over me, And upward call'd for a dumb cry With moonbread orbs of wonder I Beheld the immortal Bird on high Glassing the great Sun in her eye. Stedfast she gazed upon his fire, Still her destroyer and her sire! As if to his her soul of flame Had flown already whence it came; Like those that sit and glare so still, Intense with their death struggle, till We touch, and curdle at their chill! But breathing yet while she doth burn The deathless Daughter of the Sun! Slowly to crimson embers turn The beauties of the brightsome one. O'er the broad nest her silver wings Shook down their wasteful glitterings; Her brinded neck high arch'd in air Like a small rainbow faded there; But brighter glow'd her plumy crown Mouldering to golden ashes down; With fume of sweet woods, to the skies, Pure asa Saint's adoring sighs, Warm as a prayer in Paradise, Her life-breath rose in sacrifice! The while with shrill triumphant tone Sounding aloud, aloft, alone, Ceaseless her joyful deathwail she Sang to departing Araby!

George Darley