They
say that from a fire the phoenix rises
Out
from a cataclysm the new-patterned diadem
And
a bright new world for the loss of a dim one.
And
the life-seed of that, full-swollen
Bursting
forth in further glory.
And,
like the bird reborn
No
longer only a presentiment of life
But
a full explosion of it!
Yet
a silent one, going all unheard, and unseen
Just
as the ready dandelion, waiting its thief
And
the expulsion of its feathered seed
Rejoices
in its coming nakedness:
In its
cycle full-come dying for its children
And
the expansion of itself
In
being taken from itself;
And
all the gift of the wind, and the spirit of life.
So,
take me all, steal me all away
And
from my fire let my thrice-purged words rise
And
scatter as winged seed...
And finding quiet home
As
the commonest of all yellow flowers
Lightly
gild the gentle hearts they softly fall for;
In
dream my heart’s fruit, born of its suffering
And
life’s own children who welcome the seed.
*
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