"For these dead birds sigh a prayer." |
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Choose a category Choose a language Choose a format To know more about Phoenix:) Some quotes on Phoenix: SYMBOL OF TRANSFORMATION FOR OUR TIMES "The phoenix is a fabulously beautiful bird from ancient mythology who builds a nest of aromatic boughs, sets it afire, is consumed, then rises from the ashes and flies away to begin a whole new life. Ancient Chinese, Sumerian, Assyrian, Egy­p;tian, Incan, and Aztec mythology all tell of this uniquely immortal bird. It is an archetypal symbol of transformation and rebirth that is deeply meaningful for our times. We are experiencing the chaos of rapid change at the end of a great cosmic cycle. Just like the phoenix, we are passing through the fire that destroys the old life and ways of doing things. Through this painful, confusing time, the phoenix reminds us that we, too, will be reborn from the ashes and ascend into a whole glorious new life cycle." "Here is placed the famed Stone of the Wise, |
Opening PoemThe 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 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 loved, 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 the 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 appall'd, That the self was not the same; Single nature's double name Neither 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 twain Seemeth this concordant one! Love hath 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 enclosed 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. William Shakespeare |
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"I had heard that there was a bird called Phoenix, the only one of its kind in the whole world, whose feathers and flesh constitute the great and glorious medicine for all passion, pain, and sorrow; which also Helena, after her return from Troy, had presented in the form of a draught to Telemachus, who thereupon had forgotten all his sorrows and troubles. This bird I could not indeed hope to obtain entire, but I was seized with an irresistible longing to become possessed of at least one of its smallest feathers; and for this unspeakable privilege I was prepared to spend all my substance, to travel far and wide, and to endure every hardship. There was, of course, much to discourage me. Some people denied the very existence of this bird; others laughed at my faith in its wonder-working properties. I was thus brought for a time to regard all that Tacitus, Pliny, and all other writers have said as fabulous, and to doubt whether, after all, the different narcotics and opiates were not a better remedy for anger and sorrow than the supposed virtues of the Phoenix." Michael Maier - A Subtle Allegory |
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