From the German by W. Taylor RECOVERY,—daughter of Creation too, Though not for immortality designed,— The Lord of life and death Sent thee from heaven to me! Had I not heard thy gentle tread approach, Not heard the whisper of thy welcome voice, Death had with iron foot My chilly forehead pressed. ’T is true, I then had wandered where the earths Roll around suns; had strayed along the paths Where the maned comet soars Beyond the armèd eye; And with the rapturous, eager greet had hailed The inmates of those earths and of those suns; Had hailed the countless host That throng the comet’s disc; Had asked the novice questions, and obtained Such answers as a sage vouchsafes to youth; Had learned in hours far more Than ages here unfold! But I had then not ended here below What, in the enterprising bloom of life, Fate with no light behest Required me to begin. Recovery,—daughter of Creation too, Though not for immortality designed,— The Lord of life and death Sent thee from heaven to me!
My Recovery
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