The Phoenix and the Turtle

Let the bird of loudest lay,On the sole Arabian tree,Herald sad and trumpet be,To whose sound chaste wings obey.

But thou, shrieking harbinger,Foul pre-currer of the fiend,Augur of the fever's end,To this troop come thou not near.

From this session interdictEvery fowl of tyrant wing,Save the eagle, feather'd king:Keep the obsequy so strict.

Let the priest in surplice white,That defunctive music can,Be the death-defying swan,Lest the requiem lack his right.

And thou, treble-dated crow,That thy sable gender mak'stWith the breath thou giv'st and tak'st,'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.

Here the anthem doth commence:Love and constancy is dead;Phoenix and the turtle fledIn a mutual flame from hence.

So they lov'd, as love in twainHad the essence but in one;Two distincts, division none:Number there in love was slain.

Hearts remote, yet not asunder;Distance, and no space was seen'Twixt the turtle and his queen;But in them it were a wonder.

So between them love did shine,That the turtle saw his rightFlaming in the phoenix' sight:Either was the other's mine.

Property was thus appall'd,That the self was not the same;Single nature's double nameNeither two nor one was call'd.

Reason, in itself confounded,Saw division grow together;To themselves yet either-neither,Simple were so well compounded.

That it cried how true a twainSeemeth this concordant one!Love hath reason, reason noneIf what parts can so remain.

Whereupon it made this threneTo the phoenix and the dove,Co-supreme and stars of love;As chorus to their tragic scene.

Beauty, truth, and rarity.Grace in all simplicity,Here enclos'd in cinders lie.

Death is now the phoenix' nest;And the turtle's loyal breastTo eternity doth rest,

Leaving no posterity:—'Twas not their infirmity,It was married chastity.

Truth may seem, but cannot be:Beauty brag, but 'tis not she;Truth and beauty buried be.

To this urn let those repairThat are either true or fair;For these dead birds sigh a prayer.