I saw a phœnix in the wood alone,
With purple wings and crest of golden hewe;
Strange bird he was, whereby I thought anone,
That of some heavenly wight I had the viewe;
Untill he came unto the broken tree,
And to the spring, that late devoured was.
What say I more? Each thing at last we see
Doth passe away; the phœnix there, alas!
Spying the tree destroid, the water dride,
Himself smote with his beake, as in disdaine,
And so forthwithe in greate despight he dide;
That yet my heart burns in exceeding paine,
For ruth and pitie of so haples plight;
O! let mine eyes no more see such a sight.