My Recovery

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!