Idea - Part 16
'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.
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.
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