My phoenix long ago secured His nest in sky-vault's cope; In the body's cage immured, He is weary of life's hope. Round and round this heap of ashes Now flies the bird amain, But in that odorous niche of heaven Nestles the bird again. Once flies he upward, he will perch On Tuba's golden bough: His home is on that fruited arch Which cools the blest below. If over this world of ours His wings my phoenix spread, How gracious falls on land and sea The soul-refreshing shade! Either world inhabits he, Sees oft below him planets roll; His body is all of air compact, Of Allah's love his soul.
Translated by Ralph Waldo Emerson. This poem is in the public domain.