From childhoods hour I have not been
As others wereI have not seen
As others sawI could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I lovd, I lovd alone.
Thenin my childhoodin the dawn
Of a most stormy lifewas drawn
From evry depth of good and ill
To mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolld
In its autumn tint of gold
From the lightning in the sky
As it passd me flying by
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(when the rest of heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
