C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

My Recovery

Translation of William 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.

’Tis true, I then had wandered where the earths

Roll around suns; had strayed along the path

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 disk;

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!