 | Miscellany Poems |  |
53
On the Phænix.
I'm
Nature's wonder, the Creation's glory,
Pride of Arabia, Prodigy of story:
On whom profusely Nature spends her store,
And after for a thousand years is Poor.
Wonder not then, she Me alone doth make;
So much from her my single Worth doth take,
Another cost would Bankrupt Nature break.
Pride of Arabia, Prodigy of story:
On whom profusely Nature spends her store,
And after for a thousand years is Poor.
Wonder not then, she Me alone doth make;
So much from her my single Worth doth take,
Another cost would Bankrupt Nature break.
I, to my self both Parent am, and Heir;
My Parent Me, and I my Parent bear.
I'm always Diverse, and am yet the Same;
Find a new Life by dying in the Flame:
Chang'd, yet unchang'd, thrô endless Ages I
Wear out alone a long Eternity.
Nor yet can I with all my Pomp and State
Keep Scandal off, th' Attendant of the Great;
The Sceptick World only believes, I'm bred
In the warm Climes of a Romantick head.
My Parent Me, and I my Parent bear.
I'm always Diverse, and am yet the Same;
Find a new Life by dying in the Flame:
Chang'd, yet unchang'd, thrô endless Ages I
Wear out alone a long Eternity.
Nor yet can I with all my Pomp and State
Keep Scandal off, th' Attendant of the Great;
The Sceptick World only believes, I'm bred
In the warm Climes of a Romantick head.
My tedious Years I without Joys delude
In my uncomfortable Solitude:
The Birds and Beasts, and all the World besides
At Spring's approach do choose their Loving Brides,
Into Extatick Charms the hours improve,
And melt the Circling Moments into Love.
Those happy Minutes are to Me unknown,
Not all my Spices can their loss attone;
But I am curs'd, because I am Alone
“'Tis oft the Lot o'th' eminently Great,
“To want those Pleasures, meaner Men await;
“Captives to Grandeur, and the Slaves of State.
In my uncomfortable Solitude:
The Birds and Beasts, and all the World besides
At Spring's approach do choose their Loving Brides,
Into Extatick Charms the hours improve,
And melt the Circling Moments into Love.
Those happy Minutes are to Me unknown,
Not all my Spices can their loss attone;
But I am curs'd, because I am Alone
“'Tis oft the Lot o'th' eminently Great,
“To want those Pleasures, meaner Men await;
“Captives to Grandeur, and the Slaves of State.
| Miscellany Poems | |