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 sources I have not taken

My sorrow; I could not awaken

My heart to joy at the same tone;

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 that round me rolled

In its 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)