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. -- Robert Browning, Paracelsus