translated from the Persian by Ralph Waldo Emerson

My phoenix long ago secured
  His nest in sky-vault’s cope;
In the body’s cage immured,
  He is weary of life’s hope.

Round and round this heap of ashes
  Now flies the bird amain,
But in that odorous niche of heaven
  Nestles the bird again.

Once flies he upward, he will perch
  On Tuba’s golden bough:
His home is on that fruited arch
  Which cools the blest below.

If over this world of ours
  His wings my phoenix spread,
How gracious falls on land and sea
  The soul-refreshing shade!

Either world inhabits he,
  Sees oft below him planets roll;
His body is all of air compact,
  Of Allah’s love his soul.

Elizabeth it is in vain you say
"Love not" — thou sayest it in so sweet a way:
In vain those words from thee or L.E.L.
Zantippe's talents had enforced so well:
Ah! if that language from thy heart arise,
Breath it less gently forth — and veil thine eyes.
Endymion, recollect, when Luna tried
To cure his love — was cured of all beside —
His follie — pride — and passion — for he died.