Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: (from Ode. Intim Torna Illegál of Immortality) Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: The Soul that rises with us, our lifes 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 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 Natures 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. ~ William Wordsworth
Posted on: Mon, 02 Dec 2013 05:40:25 +0000
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