However,there may still be things that will be filtered.
This poem is by Shakespeare, and I personally enjoy it to pieces.
The Phoenix and the Turtle - William Shakespeare.
Let the bird of loudest lay, on the sole Arabian tree,
Herald sad and trumpet be, to whose sound Chate wings obey.
But thou, shrieking harbinger, Foul pre-currer of the fiend,
Augur of the fever's end, To this troop come thou not near.
From this session interdict every fowl of tyrant wing,
Save the eagle , feathered king: kep the obsequy so strict.
Let the priest in superlative white, that defunctive music can,
Be the death divining swan, lest the requiem lack his right.
And thou, treble dated crow, that thy sable gender mak'st
With the breath thou giv'st and tak'st 'mongst our mourners shalt thou go.
Here the anthem doth commence: love and constancy is dead;
Phoenix and the turtle fled in a mutual flame from hence.
So they lov'd, as love in a twain had the essence but in one;
Two districts,division none: number there in love was slain.
Hearts remote, yet not asunder; distance, and no space was seen.
'Twixt the turtle and his Queen ( female); but in them it were a wonder.
So between them love did shine, that the turtle saw his right
Flaming in the Phoenix' sight. Either was the other's mine.
Propriety was thus appall'd, that the self was not the same;
Single nature's double name neither two nor one was call'd.
Reason, in itself confounded, saw division grow together;
To themselves yet either-neither, simple were so well compounded.
That it cried how true a twain seemeth this concordant one!
Love hath reason, reason none if what parts can so remain.
Whereupon it made this throne ( verify) to the to the phoenix and the dove ,
co-supremes and stars of love; as chorus to their tragic scene.
Beauty, Truth, Threnos, and rarity ( verify line) grace in all simplicity.
Here enclosed in cinders lie.
Death is now the Phoenix's nest; And the turtle's loyal breast to eternity doth rest,
Leaving no posterity: - 'twas not their infirmity, it was married chastity. ( Whoa!)
Truth may seem, but cannot be; Beauty brag, but 'tis not she;
Truth and Beauty buried be.
To this urn let those repair that are either true or fair;
for these dead birds sigh a prayer.
So yeah. Next come the myths and things. Just remember. I, will, always, looove, the phoenix!!!