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 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

from the torrent, or the fountain-

from the red cliff of the mountain-

from the sun that round me rolled

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.