 | The Works of Michael Drayton |  |
16
['Mongst all the Creatures in this spacious Round]
'Mongst all the Creatures in this spacious Round,Of the Birds kind, the Phœnix is alone,
Which best by you, of living Things, is knowne;
None like to that, none like to you is found:
Your Beautie is the hot and splend'rous Sunne,
The precious Spices be your chaste Desire,
Which being kindled by that heav'nly fire,
Your Life so like the Phœnix's begun;
Your selfe thus burned in that sacred flame,
With so rare sweetnesse all the Heav'ns perfuming,
Againe increasing, as you are consuming,
Onely by dying, borne the very same:
And wing'd by Fame, you to the Starres ascend,
So you of Time shall live beyond the End.
| The Works of Michael Drayton | |