As the young phœnix, duteous to his sire,1
Lifts in his beak the creature he has been,2
And, laying o’er the corse broad vans for screen.3
Bears it to solitudes, erects a pyre,4
And, soon as it is wasted by the fire,5
Grides with disdainful claw the ashes clean,6
Then spreading unencumbered wings serene,7
Mounts to the æther with renewed desire:8
So joyously I lift myself above9
The life I buried in hot flames to-day;10
The flames themselves are dead—and I can range11
Alone through the untarnished sky I love,12
And trust myself, as from the grave one may,13
To the enchanting miracles of change.14