Home  »  library  »  poem  »  To Young

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

To Young

By Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock (1724–1803)

Translation of William Taylor

DIE, aged prophet! Lo, thy crown of palms

Has long been springing, and the tear of joy

Quivers on angel-lids

Astart to welcome thee!

Why linger? Hast thou not already built

Above the clouds thy lasting monument?

Over thy ‘Night Thoughts,’ too,

The pale free-thinkers watch,

And feel there’s prophecy amid the song

When of the dead-awakening trump it speaks,

Of coming final doom

And the wise will of Heaven.

Die! Thou hast taught me that the name of death

Is to the just a glorious sound of joy!

But be my teacher still;

Become my genius there!