black and the Goldfinch
become a gaudy bird, and he knew how and why all these things had come
to pass. For centuries, how many he knew not, he had watched the birds
hatch out of their little eggs, flutter their feeble little wings, fly
away to build nests for their little mates, and finally die and
disappear as birds do, leaving no trace behind.

But the Phoenix did not die. He was of different clay from these
ordinary feathered creatures. He was the glorious bird of the Sun, the
only one, the gold-and-crimson one, who when he went abroad filled all
creatures with awe of his beauty and wisdom and mystery, so that they
dared not come near, but followed him afar off, hushing their song and
adoring silently. The Phoenix fed not on flowers or fruit or
disgusting insect-fry, but on precious frankincense and myrrh and
odoriferous gums. And the Sun himself loved to caress his plumage of
gold and crimson.

As for men, they also had adored him in time past, and had built temples
in his honor. They also were puny mortals, scarcely longer of life than
the birds themselves. The Phoenix had seen many generations of men
grow up, do good or evil deeds, and die, sometimes leaving grand
monuments upon the earth, sometimes disappearing from knowledge like
the very birds, leaving scarcely a trace behind.

In his time great kings had lived and reigned and turned to dust.
Prophets had grown hoary, said their word, and passed away, leaving no
echo. Poets had sung and had died singing. But the Phoenix, looking
down from the palms of his desert, saw it all and did not die.

All this had been his pride and honor. How he had enjoyed his strength,
his beauty, his wisdom, and the knowledge that he was honored and adored
by thousands who had never even seen his glory! But now, now all was
changed. He was grown old and tired. He felt his loneliness and he
longed to die.

His wings were feeble. Of late he had not dared to venture far from the
desert. He dreaded the curious gaze of the other birds, who would find
his beauty dimmed, and would scorn, perchance, the faded glory which
they had once held in awe. For years he had not ventured within sight of
men, and he knew that most of them had forgotten his existence, nay,
even denied that he had ever lived. He feared that there might not be a
single heart in all the world that thrilled to his name.

Thinking thus mournfully, the Phoenix sat upon the top of the tallest
palm. His plumage of crimso