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Let the bird of loudest lay

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 precurrer of the fiend, Augur of the fever's end, To this troop come thou not near.

From this session interdict Every 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-divining swan, Lest the requiem lack his right.

And thou treble-dated crow, That thy sable gender mak'st With 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 fled In a mutual flame from hence.

So they lov'd, as love in twain Had 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 this Turtle and his queen: But in them it were a wonder.

So between them love did shine That the Turtle saw his right Flaming in the Phoenix' sight: Either was the other's mine.

Property was thus appalled That the self was not the same; Single nature's double name Neither two nor one was called.

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

That it cried, "How true a twain Seemeth this concordant one! Love has reason, reason none, If what parts can so remain."

Whereupon it made this threne To the Phoenix and the Dove, Co-supremes and stars of love, As chorus to their tragic scene:

threnos

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 breast To 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 repair That are either true or fair; For these dead birds sigh a prayer.

Let the bird with the loudest song On the only Arabian tree Be a sad herald and trumpet, To whose sound pure wings listen.

But you, screaming messenger, Ugly precursor of evil, Predictor of the fever's end, Do not come near this group.

Exclude from this gathering Every bird with a tyrant's wing, Except the eagle, the feathered king; Keep the funeral so strict.

Let the priest in white robe, Who can perform funeral music, Be the swan that predicts death, So the funeral song is not lacking.

And you, three-lived crow, That make your dark kind With the breath you give and take, Among our mourners you shall go.

Here the song begins: Love and faithfulness are dead; Phoenix and the Turtle have fled In a mutual flame from here.

They loved so much, as love in two Had the essence but in one; Two distinct, no division: Numbers in love were destroyed.

Hearts far apart, yet not separated; Distance and no space was seen Between this Turtle and his queen: But in them it was a wonder.

So between them love shone That the Turtle saw his right Burning in the Phoenix's sight: Each was the other's treasure.

Ownership was thus shocked That the self was not the same; Single nature's double name Neither two nor one was called.

Reason, confused in itself, Saw division grow together, To themselves yet either neither, Simple were so well combined;

That it cried, "How true a pair Seems this harmonious one! Love has reason, reason none, If what parts can so remain."

Whereupon it made this lament To the Phoenix and the Dove, Co-supremes and stars of love, As chorus to their tragic scene:

Beauty, truth, and rarity,

Grace in all simplicity, Here enclosed, in ashes lie. Death is now the Phoenix's nest,

And the Turtle's loyal heart Rests to eternity, Leaving no descendants:

It was not their weakness, It was married chastity. Truth may seem but cannot be;

Beauty may boast but it is not she; Truth and beauty are buried. To this urn let those come

That are either true or fair; For these dead birds sigh a prayer.