Classic Poem

WHEREIN HE LIKENS HIS LADY TO THE PHoeNIX OF ARABIA

This magic Phaenix with the golden plumes
Fashions so rare and natural a ring
To deck that throat, that whitest loveliest thing,
It melts all hearts and most mine own consumes;
Also it shapes a diadem which blooms,
Blinding the air with light; from thence his sting
Of liquid fire Love sucks whose flame can cling
Close to the heart's bone through the iciest glooms.
Bordered with blue, a brilliant purple vest
Sprinkled with roses, veils her shoulders: none
Matches this matchless garment — no, not one!
Fame, in the fragrant and barbaric breast
Of Arab mountains buries her sole nest
Who in our heaven so far a flight has flown.