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