For each thought that he had fallen asleep for a few minutes, and had dreamed a very odd dream about the Phoenix and the board-room.

And, of course, no one mentioned it to any one else, because going to sleep at your office is a thing you simply MUST NOT do.
The extraordinary confusion of the board-room, with the remains of the incense in the plates, would have shown them at once that the visit of the Phoenix had been no dream, but a radiant reality, but no one went into the board-room again that day; and next day, before the office was opened, it was all cleaned and put nice and tidy by a lady whose business asking questions was not part of.

That is why Cyril read the papers in vain on the next day and the day after that; because no sensible person thinks his dreams worth putting in the paper, and no one will ever own that he has been asleep in the daytime.
The Phoenix was very pleased, but it decided to write an ode for itself.
It thought the ones it had heard at its temple had been too hastily composed.

Its own ode began-- 'For beauty and for modest worth The Phoenix has not its equal on earth.' And when the children went to bed that night it was still trying to cut down the last line to the proper length without taking out any of what it wanted to say.
That is what makes poetry so difficult..