“To Edward Young”
by Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock
translation by Michael R. Burch
Die, aged prophet: your crowning work your fulcrum;
now tears of joy
tremble on angel-lids
as heaven extends its welcome.
Why linger here? Have you not already built, great Mover,
a monument beyond the clouds?
Now over your night-thoughts, too,
the pallid free-thinkers hover,
feeling there's prophecy amid your song
as it warns of the...
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