The Phoenix

I, I alone have seen the Phoenix fail, His regal wings their vibrant glories vail In gyres of baffled crimson, flagging gold Below the heaven of his conquests old. I, I alone have seen the Phoenix build His pyre with bitter myrrh and spices filled Amid the ardent waste; and none but I Has known his death and immortality, Has watched the yellowy teeth of flame consume Shell-tinted beak and heaven-painted plume, Has heard the fatal anguish of his cries And felt the fierce despair with which he dies Oblivious of that rebirth to he. Nor shall another know the mystery Of flames that turn to plumes, and ashes stirred To yield once more the fiery-crested bird With beating rainbow pinions that arise And take again the lost Sabean skies.