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