PHOENIX OF THE DAY

PHOENIX OF THE DAY

Descending now, the western sun returns

The world to night. The day's last fire burns

With shining flame wings of time's flight,

The sun-winged phoenix of the light.

The brilliant bird of day is dead;

Its far-spread wings of cloud flame red

Upon a fading, funeral pyre:

The sunset's final, dying fire.

The wings of light dissolve in dark,

To leave but scatterings of spark:

Sky-patterning, white stars that light

The passing of the pause of night.

Yet with soft dawn's light-growing gleams,

The rising flame of day's unfurled.

New-born are sun-rayed, blazing beams:

The phoenix of new day ascending

Upon the freshly shining world.

So from the sleeping night's swift ending,

The bird of time is winged anew,

To fly on sky's wide-spreading blue.

From resting, strength-renewing night,

With brilliant wings, now dark has gone,

Life's phoenix rises with the light,

Reborn- and time flies ever on.