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.