 | Poems by Miss H. F. Gould |  |
234
THE DYING PHŒNIX.
I've lived long enough! In my grandeur alone
I 've ranged the free air and conversed with the spheres;
My bright, starry eyes full of kindness have shone,
But met not their kindred, through hundreds of years.
I 've ranged the free air and conversed with the spheres;
My bright, starry eyes full of kindness have shone,
But met not their kindred, through hundreds of years.
I 've looked for my likeness by morn's early blush,
To find it alone in the lake or the stream—
At noon 't was but there; and by night's shady hush
The false water vision stole back in a dream.
To find it alone in the lake or the stream—
At noon 't was but there; and by night's shady hush
The false water vision stole back in a dream.
How vain were the graces, that played in my crest,
And round my proud neck with its collar of gold;
The rich purple plumage that clothed my lone breast,
How worthless, with none like myself to behold!
And round my proud neck with its collar of gold;
The rich purple plumage that clothed my lone breast,
How worthless, with none like myself to behold!
Though perfect in beauty, O! who would be one
Where earth all around a wide solitude lies?
Unique in creation, I 've moved, like the sun,
In splendor to set ere another can rise.
Where earth all around a wide solitude lies?
Unique in creation, I 've moved, like the sun,
In splendor to set ere another can rise.
And thus to the end of my course do I come.
Alone have I built my rich funeral pyre:
On wood of the myrrh-tree, sweet spices and gum,
Triumphant I sit, as they 're turning to fire!
Alone have I built my rich funeral pyre:
On wood of the myrrh-tree, sweet spices and gum,
Triumphant I sit, as they 're turning to fire!
235
My wings fanned the pile till they kindled the flame,
That wraps in its brightness my form as I burn.
From ashes and odors to being I came!
To odors and ashes content I return!
That wraps in its brightness my form as I burn.
From ashes and odors to being I came!
To odors and ashes content I return!
My heart melts with pity in death, for the heir
To all the fair kingdom of nature I've known,
With no one its wealth and its glory to share,
The joy is in dying, that 's tasted alone!
To all the fair kingdom of nature I've known,
With no one its wealth and its glory to share,
The joy is in dying, that 's tasted alone!
The smoke rises sweet, as my bosom consumes,
And softly it weaves a dark shade o'er my eyes:
It winds round my head—it is wreathed in my plumes—
My life mounts the cloud rolling off to the skies!
And softly it weaves a dark shade o'er my eyes:
It winds round my head—it is wreathed in my plumes—
My life mounts the cloud rolling off to the skies!
| Poems by Miss H. F. Gould | |