| Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: |
|
| The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, |
|
| Hath had elsewhere its setting, |
|
| And cometh from afar: |
¡@ |
| Not in entire forgetfulness, |
|
| And not in utter nakedness, |
|
| But trailing clouds of glory do we come |
|
| From God, who is our home: |
¡@ |
| Heaven lies about us in our infancy! |
|
| Shades of the prison-house begin to close |
|
| Upon the growing Boy, |
¡@ |
| But he |
70
|
| Beholds the light, and whence it flows, |
|
| He sees it in his joy; |
¡@ |
| The Youth, who daily farther from the east |
¡@ |
| Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, |
¡@ |
| And by the vision splendid |
|
| Is on his way attended; |
|
| At length the Man perceives it die away, |
|
| And fade into the light of common day. |
|