When the wind is at rest and the weather is fair, And the holy gem of heaven is shining, And clouds have flown and the forces of water 185 Are standing stilled, and the storms are all Assuaged and soothed: from the south there gleameth The warm weather-candle, welcomed by men. In the boughs the bird then buildeth its home, Beginneth its nest; great is its need 190 To work in haste, with the highest wisdom, That his old age he may give to gain new life, A fair young spirit. Then far and near, He gathers together to his goodly home The winsomest herbs and the wood's sweet blossoms, 195 The fair perfumes and fragrant shoots Which were placed in the world by the wondrous Lord, By the Father of all, on the face of the earth, As a pleasure forever to the proud race of men-- The beauty of blossoms. There he beareth away 200 To that royal tree the richest of treasure. There the wild fowl in the waste land On the highest beams buildeth his house, On the loftiest limbs, and he liveth there In that upper room; on all sides he surrounds 205 In that shade unbroken his body and wings With blessed fragrance and fairest of blooms, The most gorgeous of green things that grow on the earth. He awaiteth his journey when the gem of heaven In the summer season, the sun at its hottest, 210 Shineth over the shade and shapeth its destiny, Gazeth over the world. Then it groweth warm, His house becomes heated by the heavenly gleam; The herbs wax hot; the house steameth With the sweetest of savors; in the sweltering heat, 215 In the furious flame, the fowl with his nest Is embraced by the bale-fire; then burning seizeth The disheartened one's house; in hot haste riseth The fallow flame, and the Phoenix it reacheth, In fullness of age. Then the fire eateth, 220 Burneth the body, while borne is the soul, The fated one's spirit, where flesh and bone Shall burn in the blaze. But it is born anew, Attaineth new life at the time allotted. When the ashes again begin to assemble, 225 To fall in a heap when the fire is spent, To cling in a mass, then clean becometh That bright abode-- burnt by the fire The home of the bird. When the body is cold And its frame is shattered and the fire slumbers 230 In the funeral flame, then is found the likeness Of an apple that newly in the ashes appeareth, And waxeth into a worm wondrously fair, As if out from an egg it had opened its way, Shining from the shell. In the shade it groweth, 235 Till at first it is formed like a fledgling eagle,