From childhood’s hour I have 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 sorrow—I could not awaken



My heart to joy at the same tone—



And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—



Then—in my childhood—in the dawn



Of a most stormy life—was drawn



From ev’ry 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 that ’round me roll’d



In its autumn tint of gold—



From the lightning in the sky



As it pass’d 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—





