From childhood's our I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from common spring.
From the same source I have not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I have loved, loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and I'll
The mystery which binds me still;
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun around me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold
From the lighting in the sky
As it passed 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
