FAIRY　TALES　OF　HANS　CHRISTIAN　ANDERSEN
  THE　PHOENIX　BIRD
  by　Hans　Christian　Andersen
  IN　the　Garden　of　Paradise；　beneath　the　Tree　of　Knowledge；
  bloomed　a　rose　bush。　Here；　in　the　first　rose；　a　bird　was　born。　His
  flight　was　like　the　flashing　of　light；　his　plumage　was　beauteous；
  and　his　song　ravishing。　But　when　Eve　plucked　the　fruit　of　the　tree
  of　knowledge　of　good　and　evil；　when　she　and　Adam　were　driven　from
  Paradise；　there　fell　from　the　flaming　sword　of　the　cherub　a　spark　into
  the　nest　of　the　bird；　which　blazed　up　forthwith。　The　bird　perished
  in　the　flames；　but　from　the　red　egg　in　the　nest　there　fluttered
  aloft　a　new　one…　the　one　solitary　Phoenix　bird。　The　fable　tells　that
  he　dwells　in　Arabia；　and　that　every　hundred　years；　he　burns　himself　to
  death　in　his　nest；　but　each　time　a　new　Phoenix；　the　only　one　in　the
  world；　rises　up　from　the　red　egg。
  The　bird　flutters　round　us；　swift　as　light；　beauteous　in　color；
  charming　in　song。　When　a　mother　sits　by　her　infant's　cradle；　he　stands
  on　the　pillow；　and；　with　his　wings；　forms　a　glory　around　the
  infant's　head。　He　flies　through　the　chamber　of　content；　and　brings
  sunshine　into　it；　and　the　violets　on　the　humble　table　smell　doubly
  sweet。
  But　the　Phoenix　is　not　the　bird　of　Arabia　alone。　He　wings　his
  way　in　the　glimmer　of　the　Northern　Lights　over　the　plains　of
  Lapland；　and　hops　among　the　yellow　flowers　in　the　short　Greenland
  summer。　Beneath　the　copper　mountains　of　Fablun；　and　England's　coal
  mines；　he　flies；　in　the　shape　of　a　dusty　moth；　over　the　hymnbook
  that　rests　on　the　knees　of　the　pious　miner。　On　a　lotus　leaf　he
  floats　down　the　sacred　waters　of　the　Ganges；　and　the　eye　of　the　Hindoo
  maid　gleams　bright　when　she　beholds　him。
  The　Phoenix　bird；　dost　thou　not　know　him？　The　Bird　of　Paradise；
  the　holy　swan　of　song！　On　the　car　of　Thespis　he　sat　in　the　guise　of
  a　chattering　raven；　and　flapped　his　black　wings；　smeared　with　the　lees
  of　wine；　over　the　sounding　harp　of　Iceland　swept　the　swan's　red
  beak；　on　Shakspeare's　shoulder　he　sat　in　the　guise　of　Odin's　raven；
  and　whispered　in　the　poet's　ear　〃Immortality！〃　and　at　the　minstrels'
  feast　he　fluttered　through　the　halls　of　the　Wartburg。
  The　Phoenix　bird；　dost　thou　not　know　him？　He　sang　to　thee　the
  Marseillaise；　and　thou　kissedst　the　pen　that　fell　from　his　wing；　he
  came　in　the　radiance　of　Paradise；　and　perchance　thou　didst　turn　away
  from　him　towards　the　sparrow　who　sat　with　tinsel　on　his　wings。
  The　Bird　of　Paradise…　renewed　each　century…　born　in　flame；
  ending　in　flame！　Thy　picture；　in　a　golden　frame；　hangs　in　the　halls　of
  the　rich；　but　thou　thyself　often　fliest　around；　lonely　and
  disregarded；　a　myth…　〃The　Phoenix　of　Arabia。〃
  In　Paradise；　when　thou　wert　born　in　the　first　rose；　beneath　the
  Tree　of　Knowledge；　thou　receivedst　a　kiss；　and　thy　right　name　was
  given　thee…　thy　name；　Poetry。
  THE　END
  。