Paracelsus

At times I almost dream

I too have spent a life the sages’ way,

And tread once more familiar paths. 

Perchance I perished in an arrogant self-reliance ages ago; and in that act a prayer for one more chance went up so earnest, so instinct with better light let in by death, 

That life was blotted out — not so completely 

But scattered wrecks enough of it remain, 

Dim memories, as now, when once more seems 

The goal in sight again. 

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