Sonnet XXIII. The Phœnix fair which rich Arabia breeds

William Smith (fl. 1596)

THE PHŒNIX fair which rich Arabia breeds,

When wasting time expires her tragedy;

No more on PHŒBUS’ radiant rayes she feeds:

But heapeth up great store of spicery;

And on a lofty tow’ring cedar tree,

With heavenly substance, she herself consumes.

From whence she young again appears to be,

Out of the cinders of her peerless plumes.

So I, which long have frièd in love’s flame,

The fire, not made of spice, but sighs and tears,

Revive again, in hope Disdain to shame,

And put to flight the author of my fears.

Her eyes revive decaying life in me;

Though they augmentors of my thraldom be.